Spiderweb
I’m in a sunlit spiderweb now—
Black-haired, light brown tones—
People need light and sky blue air,
They need bread and Elbrus’ snow.
I can’t sort this out alone,
And no one has any advice for me—
In neither the Urals nor Crimea are there
Any such clear weeping stones.
People need a poem secretly their own,
So they may awaken from it and bathe
Forever in its flaxen-curled mystery,
The chestnut wave of its breath.
— translated from the Russian by Seth Zimmerman