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Vassily Rusetsky


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Early July
Downpour lashes
The burnt grass**


The first bird
In after the rain silence
Trying its voice.


Sprouts of fennel
I tear them off and eat.
Dewdrops on moustaches.


A silent garden,
Celandine and nettle.
An old man under the pear-tree.*


Fly up to its neck
In a drop of cherry syrup.
Greed. Heat.


The book
I've been hiding for thirty years
Passed on to a child**


I tell my beads
my fingers pensive.*


translated by DIMM, V. Rusetsky*, Nora**

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