*

“everything in life forms a circle”

(Moscow, coins).

Petersburg is straightforward

and cigarettes.

along the Promyshlennaya walk

I am empty of water.

fisherman on Molvinsky pond

sits with milk.

sit, fisherman, catch leaves,

get drunk slowly.

tell the winds about life.

be present, be present.

I'm tired of expressing something,

looking for peace.

why did you stop so early?

garden over the river?

Why didn’t he disappear, why didn’t he go out?

Am I the ice of April?

the window iconostasis is on fire

Peter Pavlensky.

the northern sunset turns blue,

bay, beyond KADIe.

clouds above Kanonersky

how to tell me?

Ekateringof is getting dark,

horses in the stables.

not you, Lord, then who in

my icon

as in Blok’s terrible poems,

ominous, motionless?

I'll think about my hands

cherry blossoms.

I'll think about you

about the coast,

Voronka, Kamenka, Upa,

about Zaonezhye,

where I will never be.

where in the snowy field

there is heavenly water.

and tears in my throat.