***
The cupolas of churches,
The cupolas of cows,
The close-ups of silence,
The close-ups of shrubs.
The casual of coal,
The casual of corn,
In ‘Petit Granit’ are graveyards,
In whisper is pierre-bleue,
A clear coloured morning,
A clear-savoured fog,
A cliché of the autumn,
A solitary cross.
The voice is shy to whisper
Afraid of falling deep,
Deep down to the bathos
To say ‘I feel to live’.
Plato – platok – Platonov –
The cave, to care, cow,
The cupolas with curved horns,
The long shot of the Sun.
