Pavel Barakhvostov
Minsk, Belarus
A lonely morning sitting with me on a sill watches clouds roam
from the drowsing east at dawn they float past
bringing in their rags
if not oblivion then still a blizzard
meek God in a whisper of your landscapes you are talking to us
unaware of time and distance immutable like our deafness
you will send us winter lenient Lord to efface these bare aspens and oaks on the tired bosom of earth
and a girl’s name on the misted window this message of memory
pinned to the panorama
you will lean over the maze of boulevards with a gentle smile causing
plenty of jolly wrinkles to emerge to put us to a white sleep of snow serene
as it used to be in childhood