May 8, 2007
It shines with a miraculous light
Revealing to the eye the cutting of facets.
It alone speaks to me
When others are too scared to come near.
When the last friend turned his back
It was with me in my grave
As if a thunderstorm sang
Or all the flowers spoke.
Anna Akhamatova, "Music" (trans. Grigori Gerenstein)
Posted May 8, 2007 12:00 AM