The Word Dropped Like A

All Has Been Looted, Betrayed, Sold; Black Death's Wing Flashed Ahead.

But Fear And The Muse In Turn Guard The Place Where The Banished Poet Has Gone And The Night That Comes With Quickened Pace Is Ignorant Of Dawn.

In The Terrible Years Of The Yezhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months Waiting In Line Outside The Prison In Leningrad. One Day Somebody In The Crowd Identified Me . . . And Asked Me In A Whisper . . . "can You Describe This?" And I Said: "i Can."

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.

Though You Are Three Times More Beautiful Than Angels, Though You Are The Sister Of The River Willows, I Will Kill You With My Singing, Without Spilling Your Blood On The Ground. Not Touching You With My Hand, Not Giving You One Glance, I Will Stop Loving You, But With Your Unimaginable Groans I Will Finally Slake My Thirst. From Her, Who Wandered The Earth Before Me, Crueler Than Ice, More Fiery Than Flame, From Her, Who Still Exists In The Ether— From Her You Will Set Me Free.