Marina Tsvetaeva
In each line's strange syllable: she awakes
as a gull, torn
between heaven and earth.
I accept her, stand with her face to face.
-- in this dream: she wears her dress
like a sail, runs behind me, stopping
when I stop. She laughs
as a child speaking to herself:
"soul = pain + everything else."
I bend clumsily at the knees
and I quarrel no more,
all I want is a human window
in a house whose roof is my life.
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