I long for the land that is not,
For all that is, I am weary of wanting.
The moon speaks to me in silvern runes
About the land that is not.
My soul was a light blue dress the color of the sky;
I left it on a rock by the sea
and naked I came to you, looking like a woman.
I have a luck cat in my arms,
it spins threads of luck.
Luck cat, luck cat,
make for me three things:
When night comes
I stand on the steps and listen,
stars swarm in the yard
and I stand in the dark.
Of all our sunny world
I wish only for a garden sofa
where a cat is sunning itself.
I want to let go -
so I don't give a damn about fine writing,
I'm rolling my sleeves up.
The dough's rising...
I had to cross the solar system
before I found the first thread of my red dress.
I sense myself already.
The Bolsheviks’ victory is very fast,
but we will get there before them, for this is the last one.
The reins we will loosen from life,
My artificial flowers
I send them to you.
My small bronze lions
I set up at your door.