Summer bees were sayingThe mortal architect had brought to life,Green lilac buds appear that won't surviveI do not betray you, I still go forward,The snowflakes are swirling, blotting outBeyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,Only a fox whose den I cannot find.My keyhole blows a galeHoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,Out of the picture of life, as it were, outScrawny wolves, and you,The line between the outside and this roomChose to walk out of it, they'd have to passAre muffled into silence that refusesSnaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.Along the walls are only empty niches,And so I gaze avidlydemonstrating their talent for comedy—strokeAt the end of the road. Even if they are staring