_________________________________Vicky
It is not that Muse becomes dumb and dim,
It is fellow who drowns into sound dream,
And the girl whose blue shawl wawed good-byes
Drives a heavy roller on chest, and rides.
And the words would not stand like that or this
Or like timber rejoining the forests' bliss,
And the eyes (like eggs) of a man who sleeps
Spread about and spill over pillow-slip
Is it hot under those six veils in room
Where it was - oh, God, how I could presume! -
That like gills of fish swallow air of tide,
My raw lip catched what was you at that time?
I would like to sew rabbit ears to face,
I would swallow lead in woods for your grace
I would rise from ponds, and from rotten snags
Before you - "Varyag" did not have this strength.
But it seems the fate isn't that or same
And the hair turn gray where to say is shame
More dry veins than the crimson blood to rush,
And the thoughts more crooked than the withered brush
We are parting, dear. It's not time to cling
Tarnish paper with simple and empty ring.
That is me: no thing to confuse and maze.
Look at it for while. Look and then erase