M. B.

We will live with you on the shore,
otgorodivshisy vыsochennoy Damboa
by continent, in a small circle,
erected a makeshift lamp.
We will fight with the cards you
and listen to, how bezumstvuet surf,
hem, sighs imperceptibly,
if too strong breeze.

I'll be old, And you - you are young.
But so will, as taught by the pioneers,
that the bill will go to the day - not on the year, –
the rest of us to a new era.
In the Netherlands, its the other way around
we shall dissolve with you garden
and will fry oysters beyond the threshold
and solar powered octopus.

Let the noise of the rain Cucumber,
we Zagora with you in Eskimo,
and tenderly you spend your finger
of virgin, pristine strip.
I have to take a look in the mirror collarbone
and found behind a wave
and the old Geiger in tin box
on a faded and sweaty strap.

Winter will come, mercilessly twisting
sedge our roofing wooden.
And if we carry a child,
then we call Andrew and Anna.
to, a wrinkled face is grafted,
Russian alphabet was not forgotten,
whose first sound of exhalation last
and, that is, in the future be established.

We will fight cards, and so
We will carry with trumps
by Bereg izvilistosty tide.
And our child will be tacitly
watch, not understanding,
like a moth beating of the lamp,
when the time comes for him
move back across the causeway.

1 May 1965

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Joseph Brodsky
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