by Raizl Zhikhlinski

I don’t know the thoughts of
horses in rain
horses yoked-
to heavy loads
But I —
I want to lie on these same roads,
on these same roads in rain at night
and be pulled by wet horses,
over gray and silent earth.

* * *

Summer has turned gray
Here in the garden
not a leaf will move.
The wind has died.

Leave me alone on this bench.
I want to sit here longer
I want to be silent here,
for a long