not a letter

February 8, 2008

guess it’s been seven years since we last met
nowadays I readily regard such spans
of life such gaping breaks between encounters
as final rifts i am devoid of doubts
concerning my reserves but be so kind
stay and abide awhile

i will recount
as if you were whatever sex and age
a link within the tangible which used
to hurl us twain apart on the x-axis
over dead water i will speak aloud
of distances and moments i would rather
do it in writing or within my mind
seven long years plus seven thousand miles
for all i know they could have been light years
devoid of you whatever age and sex
splat soundlessly against the air the wall
i speak

in fact to be precise i am silent

in my half-bed in a digital waste
slept winter-long past the date with a doctor
whose enema is ever shooting blanks
first let us make a compact to exist
in one of those small worlds each other’s rivals
with a line threaded through the cosmic mist
along the y-axis in speeding spirals
soon splat against the wall like some blind bee
un-farewell then

This is a translation of my Russian poem.