Trace

Why does it come to me, like a polyphonic crowd, do the woods rustle? Why does it seem to me, like an unstoppable stream, that the whole world flows? Like the last of all who was with you... Was he? Was that world real or imagined... So gray my hair turns And sometimes, time sweeps away the trace Cold, as if already indifferent But just so unwell - That just breathe. And more, and more - to warm up That land where I walked this summer Where the first mistaken step was made... Where the first... Maybe the last... Without opening my eyes in the morning how to set the course of actions? Stepping, whether in the air Maybe in the young feathers Or in the realm of dreams. And again, powerless to seek here That first incomprehensible trace What I don't know how I made... ...Why does it pierce me with irreversible sorrow The thirst for existence?... That first step on this earth On the untilled field Towards repentance. And here, lifting my eyes up search for a not accidental trace - my life... [End]