Are not we here, to look,
there, surrounded by sand –
on both sides of the bench,
frozen, on the seashore.
All fancies, that next to you.
I see everything through a rainy howl
flows into the color of the water
fluctuating curl your.
How twisted someone in tow
linen sheets night,
and clouds and shafts run,
but the different ways they.
empty beach, the edge of the earth,
where each wooden house
looms behind you,
as the boat, that stands upside down.
And now, as if the fear:
I can not believe, the house is rooted!
But, throwing open the doors, fisherman
prevents repeat the question.
And the wind was whistling, Tweedledum
so hungry for simple borders,
in this dragnet (or network) rain
those caught shorebirds,
I can not see them from the side –
as the backside of his bench
repeats, that we are, are,
what, may be, and we are a family.
Only us here - not now, no further,
staring at the empty sand,
the identity of the sign does not see,
knit of two boards.
winter 1962 – 1963