Стихи и поэмы. Проза. Переводы. Письма. О поэте. Фото и видео.

Crimea

Perched on one foot, latching a sandal.
First I see an olive tree—and then the magnetic tree.
Orbits of objects, carefully balanced.
Flick the pupil and, as if by prayer, a lizard is vanquished.

The sea clicks, transmitting foam that plots at random
a group of flies. Turn hard
and you are met by a Khan, flanked by a pair of spindly birds,
picking through axes of rotation—like a battle made of glass,

now in shards. Poppies blister the loam.
Let the slack-jawed run through stone to Judgment.
Those struck dumb in adoration—
for the initial precision of blood, the first rotation—will be saved.

Translated from Russian by: 
Wayne Chambliss
Original source: 
Крым

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