Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Alexander Ulanov

In memoriam, Valeria Simina

Having eaten the snow, a crow cleaning its beak on a bough. The truthfulness of high temperatures. The winter compresses the river’s spring. There’s not enough room for everyone; only hell’s niches are personalized. The yellow fanfares, the notes of wheat grains. Behind the swimmer, waves, behind one walking, wind, in back of each of us, shade; but no two memories are alike. Everything is transparent only for a stone plummeting downward. A snow flake’s glimmer, a fragment only – even though the other five are identical. A – a letter, aa – a question, aaaaaa – a scream. Already, by touch, the ripening barberry tree senses the air with its twigs, the air slowly drawing it toward the bottom. All those captive fatigues, palms glued to the backs of their napes. The past consolidates when it is understood to no longer exist. That which cannot be changed – no longer is. Water’s thousand blinded, worried eyes. So that the ancient wanderer of the night will not stumble against and be tripped up by the sea. _____

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