«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...»
«Yes, I’m a sailor! A wanderer of the seas, / In endless waves a seeker of strange isles. / I yearn for new hues in a different breeze, / New tongues and alien plateaus and defiles. And women come to my passionate pleas / Obedient, with but begging in their smiles! / As painful veils dro...»