For Lesya Ukrainka
listen to him who flinches from the slightest sound
follow him closely, be vigilant and meek
we talked – about what? about clear acacia honey
about the quiet hours of work and rest
about dimensions, eternity constantly dividing
those who try to divide, but hopelessly, what will you fish out
the ocean from a drop or gutter-pipe, from a dew-covered snow-drip breeze
draft, light wind, waft – measured by what?
perhaps we talked about him? time was already a thaw
time blossomed, snowed, did not promise long years, did not discuss illness
cooked preserves, read, translated poems, to treat tuberculosis
of the bones traveled to Druskininkai, brought
salt to Lvov, crystalized
herself into classical
salt – into a beloved city much like Vilnius, filled with
hills and languages, and nations, a city of rowers, at times
rambling through fog, at times
stroking through sunlight, lost in dreams, the periodically
sculling, at times transfiguring into merciful dew, none will understand
salt or the lye of cracking calluses
dispersed itself in my perforated
bones and hair, turned into hoarfrost, romantically
speaking, or more commonly – into grayness, turned into a growth
on the little toe, into the Bee’s humpback, and still – into clear acacia honey