And a neighbor-lady the other day lost her glorious dog, Tita.
And now she stands and chews
a clump of snow in her palm.
And a hand without a glove
is red as a shame.
And this I saw, in the morning, walking out of my window.
Walk, hug my torso, as if I know your torso.
Walk as if a hand can console a human torso.
(Step away from me, you idiot, my neighbor-lady yells.)

*
I am unaware of the concept of neighbors
Their faces, strange,
I see in backyards, on the morning walk to work
on the evening walk from work
I see their faces.
(And my body to their eyes, my body, is snow)
Momentary beings, lungs
in snow
who can console snow, lungs?

*
To winter’s narrow splinter
Of a street, to an idiot neighbor
And her idiot dog
We will now announce:
glory.
To quiet and naked branches of poplars
To faces also quiet
In winter’s splinter
Of a wind, say:
glory.
To a voice you don’t hear
The real
Voice, cold, cut from stone in
a bone:
glory.
To no one, unknown
One blue on white
And quiet that splinters
the winter:
glory.


(Translated from the Russian by Katie Farris and Ilya Kaminsky)