Winter. It’s dark.
Close the window.
Don’t let in
The last light.
How many winters of grief
For all the summers.
Fourth dream —
And afterwards
To choke a groan
With a handkerchief.
What century?
Ungifted calculation.
The snow is like bleach
And burns the eyes.
Breathe calmer!
Don’t dare! Don’t dare!

— Irina Ratuchinskaya.

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