Читать книгу Polyhedron. HALF-WHISPER: The translation of poetic texts generates unexpected, and sometimes monstrous, meanings… - Сергей Москаленко - Страница 8

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But puddles is windows in heaven. —

To step and sink.

And, come true, tired garden

Lazily pulls

Slow, cold smoke —

Gray strands.

And buffoon ice

At noisy spots

Braced for breathing breasts

Hills and logs.

And looks forward to a new work

Contractor of God.

And, busy next spring,

He cherishes the secret.

Green hand of mosses

Embrace the stones

And reflected in water.

Be silent and listen:

Horseshoe leaves and rain

Beat in puddles.

05.10.99