Summer bees were saying
The mortal architect had brought to life,
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
My keyhole blows a gale
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
Scrawny wolves, and you,
The line between the outside and this room
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
Along the walls are only empty niches,
And so I gaze avidly
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring