***
But soon things changed.
Before becoming urgent, the pain
Has waited,
And then,
Restarted a promenade in modo russico.
Men in top hats
Stood in a circle,
Whispering to someone
On an empty street:
“No pleasant farewells are possible,
In Russian sense of elegy,
It is too vertical,
Too one-way ticket,
It is too massive!
While Japanese do cherish sweet tristesse,
And sour cherries,
The pleasure of the endings –
Soft hokkus”.
Someone surprising, in a kimono,
Who seemed not to notice me,
Got the fingers out
To touch the water,
In which the full moon
Arranged the opera –
Of Mussorgsky? Or Shostakovich? Or was it rain?
Why was it hot then?
The boiling drops – into my bare hands.
Nothing else
Happened.
A passing pain was heard.
