The sleepless night is a draftsman.
It draws spheres, memories, pictures.
And nothing in it seems complicated,
and everything in it - a past.
The night hinders every falling day
in the sound of silent noise and fury.
It looks like tranquility Sunday,
in which warm linden tea heats you.
The night is short. Recording night.
There you draw how to continue the line.
Move the date with one check mark,
you teach her and you post your fate.
The night is this - with lunar outlines,
which slides along the windows
and the time of warm confessions,
and the whisper of some "I love".
Night is a time for a walk
in the depths of everything unreasonable,
in the nightmare of our lonely boats
or our shores swim.
The night is night and always happens.
After the sunset, she arrives in quiet steps.
Whatever we received during the day,
we sew it. Like patches.
Goodbye and Kisses ...