For Lesya Ukrainka

listen to him who flinches from the slightest sound

follow him closely, be vigilant and meek

we talked – about what? about clear acacia honey

about the quiet hours of work and rest

about dimensions, eternity constantly dividing

those who try to divide, but hopelessly, what will you fish out

the ocean from a drop or gutter-pipe, from a dew-covered snow-drip breeze

draft, light wind, waft – measured by what?

perhaps we talked about him?  time was already a thaw

time blossomed, snowed, did not promise long years, did not discuss illness

cooked preserves, read, translated poems, to treat tuberculosis

of the bones traveled to Druskininkai, brought

salt to Lvov, crystalized

herself into classical

salt – into a beloved city much like Vilnius, filled with

hills and languages, and nations, a city of rowers, at times

rambling through fog, at times

stroking through sunlight, lost in dreams, the periodically

sculling, at times transfiguring into merciful dew, none will understand

salt or the lye of cracking calluses

dispersed itself in my perforated

bones and hair, turned into hoarfrost, romantically

speaking, or more commonly – into grayness, turned into a growth

on the little toe, into the Bee’s humpback, and still – into clear acacia honey