«Not the lyre of a lover / I’ll carry through my land / The rattle of a leper / Will sing in my hand.»
«You will not grasp her with your mind / or cover with a common label, / for Russia is one of a kind — / believe in her, if you are able...»
«The heat was fierce. Great forests were on fire. / Time dragged its feet in dust. A cock was crowing / in an adjacent lot. As I pushed open / my garden-gate I saw beside the road / a wandering Serb asleep upon a bench / his back against the palings. He was lean / and very black, and dow...»
«Fierce heat. The forests were afire. Time / Dragged on dully. At the neighbor’s dacha / A rooster crowed. I went out of the gate. / There, on a bench, leaning against the fence, / A Serb, a drifter, dozed, black and skinny. / A heavy silver cross hung / On his half-bare breast. Drops o...»