History of one Window

Pre-winter
An indistinct longing lives in me
In the cold, muddy roads, blizzards,
For quiet weeks chained in ice,
And the sky with gray hair on the temples.

Where at the origins of the brief permafrost
There is a holy primordial winter,
What you take with trepidation for granted
With her, quickly becoming "you".

On a clean, uncrumpled sheet
Will line the trail from house to house,
Perhaps the handwriting will be unfamiliar
Perhaps the lines will disappear in the morning.

In the night the deaf will announce the snow
His first crowned, white dance,
And the snowy gloss will live like a glow
As common as many years ago.

And the world burned down hundreds of times in a vice
The fire of the autumn long gimmick,
Will be surrendered to icicles and blizzards,
And the sky with gray hair on the temples.

Chebotaeva Tatiana