Translated from Russian by Andrew Watchel
You told me that my home is gone.
Who’ll kill the messenger of memory?
Who’ll rip away the mask of the past?
Words, words. You’re heavy as stones.
You’re heavy. Amidst the ruins
you await my return
from endless roaming.
There’s no bullet. A garden in shadow.
And the messenger leaps and leaps.
My shadow garden, where from a tear a tear
carves cold fire.
The teardrops are largest,
where the fire’s coldest.