FIVE POEMS
Kama
1.
How on the Kama River the eye grows dark,
when the cities stand on oaken knees.
Disguising itself in a web, beard to beard,
the burning pine grove runs, younger in the water.
The water resisted one hundred and four oars,
bearing them up and down to Kazan and Cherdyn.
There I floated on the river with a curtain in the window,
with a curtain in the window, with my head on fire.
And with medidn’t sleep for five nights, but bore the three guards.
