Wassily, through the Dangers
Say, did we not sleep together in the same bed in the same room fraught with peril,
through which everyone walked flat-footed, everyone walking throughout the nights;
the relief consignments guarded by the relief forces,
the mafia hirelings in muftis, the spying humanoids?
Tell, don't you know the reason why you slept so well in such a perilous room -
in an empty station building, in an asleep-panicked village,
when all those cackling ladies pounded at the window shutters?
You did not wake up in restlessness, though the premature girls
chopped chalks as if they had gnashed their blanched teeth in the night.
Wassily, were you in an insular monastery, surrounded by solitary waters,
I would rise from the side of your bed like a warm mist from a cooling lake,
fold a pair of nimble, limpid oars around your neck,
row deep into your blind sleep and protect you,
even if you were already to startle at the temporary interruptions in your respiration,
at the fidelity oath, sworn in the face of fear of growing old?