«Bebo ao lar em pedaços, / À minha vida feroz, / À solidão dos abraços / E a ti, num brinde, ergo a voz… Ao lábio que me traiu, / Aos mortos que nada vêem, / Ao mundo, estúpido e vil, / A Deus, por não salvar ninguém.»
«Vivimos sin sentir el país a nuestros pies, / nuestras palabras no se escuchan a diez pasos. / La más breve de las pláticas / gravita, quejosa, al montañés del Kremlin. / Sus dedos gruesos como gusanos, grasientos, / y sus palabras como pesados martillos, certeras. / Sus bigotes de ...»
«To the memory of Marina Tsvetaeva As twenty-two years ago / No matter what the name, think death, no matter / What petal, 'tis in flames and under soles. / And yet to me, amid this groan and clatter, / Another loss outvoices all the tolls. / Why wasn't I – an arrow – meant to perish...»
«A lone white sail steadfastly glistens / Through azure mists afar at sea. / What does it seek in far-off distance? / What has it lost in native realm? The waves break fast, the wind is clipping, / The mast is creaking as it sways. / Alas, it seeks no blissful being, / Nor does it run fr...»