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Скорее выздоровливайте! O city of kempt and unkempt faces.
How are these rivers not mirrors enough?
lady of the swamp, twice built,
and when will your festering scars heal?
Where has your aged grace gone?
crystal-crested queen of the frozen moment,
and what has this melting to do with you?
Why won’t your children stop building?
babushka of borrowed, bought, and bottled water,
Зачем внуки твои еще рисуют?
Two months and three days
passed away as easily as I’ll forget
this gray day’s final attempt at rain,
the ephemeral stain of this fleeting christening
baptizing me slightly darker than before
But I’ll not forget this cold shore,
the ceaseless downpour of moments puddling into hours
collected in the streams of repetitive days
washed away to the cold sea bordering this city
leaving me a little cleaner than before
Soon I’ll stand motionless in one moment,
these movements, frozen by winter’s arrival
The bright white illusion of time’s relief,
of my belief in the beautiful singularity slowly drifting towards me
making me a little colder than before
O Generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
Having loved the inexpressibility of the rain
she patters now, not outside my door.
The priest lost the pear he had kept on a silver chain and
his face reddened as the metal clinked on the floor
below the podium where he stood.
Finally windows failed to fill his upcast glance as he sat
back down, blood-flushed and pearless,
his eye sparkling behind the absence of his monocle.
