Place your palms on my shoulders,
let us embrace, —
only the breath of your lips on my face,
behind us, only the crashing rollers.
Our backs like two moonlit shells
are shut together behind us,
we cuddle, observing the quietness,
forming life’s double bond with ourselves.
In the midst of a circus-like game,
we use our shoulders to screen
the love that arises between,
like two palms screening a flame.
Does each cell have a soul within it?
If so, swing open those doors
and your souls will flutter like linnets
in the cages of my pores!
Every mystery will soon become known.
Is it possible that we also will be
torn apart to dry up alone, —
like two muted shells near the sea?
The eggshells of our backs are smothered
with the burden of life’s heavy heap.
This presses us to one another.
We’re asleep.
Заведи мне ладони за плечи,
обойми,
только губы дыхнут об мои,
только море за спинами плещет.
Наши спины — как лунные раковины,
что замкнулись за нами чейчас.
Мы заслушаемся, прислонясь.
Мы — как формула жизни двоякая.
На ветру мировых клоунад
заслоняем своими плечами
возникающее меж нами -
как ладонями пламя хранят.
Если правда, душа в каждой клеточке,
свои форточки отвори,
В моих порах
стрижами заплещутся
души пойманные твои!
Все становится тайной явным.
Неужели под свистопад,
разомкнемся немым изваяньем —
как раковины не гудят?
А пока нажимай, заваруха,
на скорлупы упругие спин!
Это нас прижимает друг к другу.
Спим.
«A playful prankish Dragonfly / The whole Summer have sung out / Finally, she looked about; / Winter 's already coming by. Like deceased the forest stays. / Where are you, those happy days, / When for her, under each tree, / Was a home with tart and tea? The evil Winter took...»
«In Winter with her severe cold, / A Peasant, poor and withered and very old, / Walked slowly to his smoky hut / Carrying the heavy fagot. / He walked and walked, and tired he got. / Then on his fagot sat, / And with a sigh, / He said, / "Oh, God, / How wretched and poo...»
«An Eagle was once flying in the sky / But suddenly (I don't know why) / He landed on a barn to rest. / Although the barn is not / A proper roost / For an eagle, but it / Might be, I don't know what... / Perhaps, he wanted just to boost / This farm, or there was no other ...»
«A boiling Waterfall, once, dashing from the rock, / Addressed to a salubrious Spring below with a talk: / "In grass you're hardly seen, your murmur is not loud, / So how you succeed attracting this huge crowd? / Why do they come to you? I'don't know what to think." / "For treat...»