By Aleksey Porvin 3


A storm cloud strikes a street
with hail to mask despair
(a passage to this earth
with no choice in the air) ?

The creation, liberty
here, the movement within
brightly lit, only
street lamps and summer din ?

Hailstones, feel the choice ?
At evening seen by all:
it comes abruptly, weightless
in the waterfall.

And you, before your fall,
can touch a street lamp’s beam
amid the misty noises
and follow light to dream.

Translated from the Russian by Leo Yankevich.