By
And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind,
I was ready.
I will manage somehow.
Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again
Unless . . . Summer’s ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time,
I’ve foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house.
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