April by Andrei Temnikov

As soon you can measure the space there s a mere bright spot upon dark waters That s how I recognise my own voice when its word is engaged with the star Sometime it is dark sometime it s like a link s little star Unpleasant even to myself for its unsmart notices Birds my beloved gloaming dead time in the woods I wish the voice of yours could be the same transparent I m enough with a grey space another simply blue It s a dialegtic leg of an antique halfgod When flowers are strange and every thing seems dead this s my time Every thing still seems dead and secresy trickles from every stem Optional and cruel secresy that I cannot understand Dead time of the woods speaks through waves of its hand like a mute I m the eye of a pain in a woodlands mechanism they were good with me I m not shown to anyone the heights are forbidden for me I know my garment is old and black this s easy to get dirty in the woods The only thing I don t know is my heart and that the morrow glows in it I walked upon the river but couldn