by Anzhelina Polonskaya

Like lost children, the dry leaves
on the mournful sidewalks
wind around our legs.
Could those fallen leaves
ever find their mother
under this autumn sky ?
Perhaps a bird, tired of flying,
giving in to nature’s ancient laws,
will entrust to them her dull wing.
Or, while speaking with you,
I will turn an accidental glance
toward that quiet arboreal rot,
more indifferent even
than God’s indifference.
The wind blows the leaves away.

Translated by Andrew Wachtel.