Pages of Winter
       

Take a look, the birds are dancing
on winter's white pages.
The heavy guinea fowl and the grouse,
putting everything into it
under the barrel of a gun,

and fate, like a skier,
rushes ahead inexorably
and his sweater flashes between the trunks.

A ski, a ski
has belted the earth, and there's no shelter
not a bit,
it's already twilight and the stars crunch
like grains of sand in your teeth.

And you can't fall down, can't rest,
can't even squint,
because if you close your eyes
you give the guns a chance
and you won't save the dancing birds.
And you won't turn the pages.

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Copyright © 2014 Anzhelina Polonskaya (trns. by Andrew Wachtel) All rights reserved
from Subtropics
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission