***
Being the first on Earth to enter
this speechless winter,
snow crocuses and white swans
have skies and me at their feet.
Rising heavenward,
crocuses – over the soil,
swans – over the water,
not only they herald
the end of cold,
but also the beginning of a daydream –
in shades of lilac
I see Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake,
thousands of ballerinas in wilderness –
the purple fires
dancing with fully open bells.
When open,
the crocuses resemble
stars,
elusive figments of my imagination.
A seriousness of a special nature –
the swans
go faster than the clouds –
the disobedience and faithfulness at one!
Rudolph Nureyev sits down by my side:
“You live as long
as you keep dancing”.
The swans do rival
zillions of doubts,
they fill one’s heart
with happiness which
moves around
on burning pink or purple
pointe shoes.
