My Shadow Serves As The

The Celebrations Of Secret Nonmeetings Are Empty, Unspoken Conversations, Unuttered Words. Glances That Don't Intersect Don't Know Where To Come To Rest. And Only The Tears Rejoice Because They Can Flow And Flow. Sweetbrier Around Moscow, Alas! Somehow It Is Here ... And All This They Will Call Love Eternal.

I Am In The Middle Of It: Chaos And Poetry; Poetry And Love And Again, Complete Chaos. Pain, Disorder, Occasional Clarity; And At The Bottom Of It All: Only Love; Poetry. Sheer Enchantment, Fear, Humiliation. It All Comes With Love

A Choir Of Angels Glorified The Hour, The Vault Of Heaven Was Dissolved In Fire. "father, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? Mother, I Beg You, Do Not Weep For Me.

During The Terrible Years Of The Yekhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months In The Prison Queues In Leningrad. One Day Someone ‘identified’ Me. Then A Woman With Lips Blue With Cold Who Was Standing Behind Me, And Of Course Had Never Heard Of My Name, Came Out Of The Numbness Which Affected Us All And Whispered In My Ear—(we All Spoke In Whispers There): ‘could You Describe This?’ I Said, ‘i Can!’ Then Something Resembling A Smile Slipped Over What Had Once Been Her Face.

This Cruel Age Has Deflected Me.