Maximilian Voloshin
Fine threads paint the sky...

Fine threads paint the sky
Wanting to overtake the day,
And night has tipped
Into my soul, into the lakes.

I want to scream something
Into its dark, open jaws,
To bring my ear to it,
Press up against it with my tremulous heart.

You walk holding your breath,
The fields are freezing.
No, listen…do you hear it?
It’s the earth breathing.

I cling to the grass.
To be yours forever…
“I know, I know… I understand,”
Whispers the water.

The night is dark and starless.
Someone cries in their sleep.
Bottomless, it spilled over the waters,
And into me.

Translated by Masha Udensiva-Brenner