|From the book Gates. Windows. Arches|
|A house in the blizzard|
or a fire in the steppe
or a village on the chest of the shaggy mountain
or a shack
at the edge of the ocean
that rises forever
as. in the pit of the stomach,
that spot, where all that’s nameless
aches on, –
this is where to live
this is where we come alive.
We’ll reassemble the glass broken
in fragments through grief
and in its wine we’ll all be reflected –
all, as if we’d just come in:
with cheerful and curious glance,
with snow, with fire,
with pleasure of seeing one another,
with the ocean in the window.
And our host will be Givi
for a kinder man Earth never saw.