Maria Tsvetaeva
Your name is abird in my hand
Your name is abird in my hand,
a piece of ice on my tongue.
The lips' quick opening.
Your namefive letters.
A ball caught in flight,
a silver bell in my mouth.
A stone thrown into a silent lake
isthe sound of your name.
The light click of hooves at night
your name.
Your name at my temple
shrill click of a cocked gun.
Your nameimpossible
kiss on my eyes,
the chill of closed eyelids.
Your namea kiss of snow.
Blue gulp of icy spring water.
With your namesleep deepens.
--from Poems to Bloch
Russian, trans. Jean Valentine
& Ilya Kaminsky

Marina Tsvetaeva, Russian, trans. Jean
Valentine & Ilya Kaminsky, 2009.