Boris Pasternak
- Garden teardrop, by Evgenia Sarkisyants
- Weeping Garden, by Angela Livingstone
- Weeping Garden, by James E. Falen
«Now on three sides the darkness grows deeper / with the coming of dawn, and still my / hand has no courage to reach through the solid / air to the white paper on the table. For reason can not honestly resist my / sense of limitation! Now I cannot / let my hand wrote any of those careless ...»
«Winter, to me your gestures are / cold and careful: yes, in / winter there is something / gentle as medicine, or why else would sickness / put out trusting hands / into that season, from its own / torture and darkness? Weave your magic then / my love, let the kiss / of one curl of ...»
«by that summer snapshot taken / on someone else’s porch, skewed to one / side, that looks so like a gibbet, and / points a way out of the house not into it; / where you are wearing some violent sateen dress that / cramps the muscles of your throat like armour; / and are simply sitting ...»
«They have set a Christmas tree up in a hospital ward. / It clearly feels out of place in a cloister of suffering. / The moon over Leningrad comes to my window ledge / but does not stay long - many windows, much waiting. The moon moves on to a spry, independent old woman; / outside y...»