Where once snowdrifts lay,
And the wind drizzled,
The sky puddles in a puddle
In the black openings of their liquid mirrors.
He would fall to the ground and not move,
To fall into suspended animation and desolation.
I have a pattern of leafless plants,
Between them is the trembling of the blue calico.
At night, the web is silvered,
The breath of God is an unreliable rug,
At night, the birds in the nests become cold,
And the frightened stars tremble moths.
Где когда-то лежали сугробы,
И ветер поземку сметал,
Небу в лужах замирать в ознобе
В черных проемах их жидких зеркал.
Ему б упасть на землю и не шевелиться,
Впасть в анабиоз и запустенье.
Надо мной узор безлиственных растений,
Между ними трепет голубого ситца.
Ночью серебрится света паутина,
Дыханье бога - ненадежная рогожка,
Ночью птицы в гнездах стынут,
И продрогших звезд подрагивают мошки.
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