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summer, the past, as if there never was and never will be
one like it again, as if it were the last. As if we are running
for the last time with pounding carefree steps toward the
banks, toward the water, and it flows smoothly from the
tributaries and empties out into the Dnieper. Show me
around the flat terrain, across those 106,000 square
kilometers, geographically, like a straight-A student. There,
where the water drainage basin stretches past the nuclear
power plant. Scribble on the map, all along the river's 748
kilometers with a black marker. Give me a little more time.
I'm playing here in the grass, it's raining, my dear little
unknown comrade from the Pale between Ukraine and
Belarus – I'm not even exactly sure where you are, on the
map in my textbook that little corner is too small, between
two holes of the spiral binding that hold the pages together.
So tell me about it now, give me time to stand here a little
longer, in the rain.
In return, let me admit that you are now extending this
moment in Paradise – she is blonde, my little Soviet
comrade from Ukraine, from Belarus, she is a blue T-shirt
and blonde hair in braids and shoes with a strange design
on the heels. Tell me whatever you want, don't make me
ask, my lips are busy, my words are busy. I put a lot of effort
into my Russian, see how beautifully I write to you with
loops and hooks, correctly using the instrumental case and
the backwards “e,” right?