And the stone word
On my still-living breast.
Never mind,
I was ready.
I will manage somehow.
Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—Unless . . .
Summer's ardent
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen
Brilliant day, deserted house.
Translated from the Russian by Judith Hemschemeyer
