So you will never find me—
In this life—with a sharp and invisible
Fence, I encircle myself
With honeysuckle, bind myself,
With hoarfrost, cover myself.
So you will never hear me
At night—with a crone's subtlety:
With reticence—I fortify myself.
With rustlings, bind myself,
With silkiness, cover myself.
So you neither flower nor mold in me
Overmuch—in my undergrowth: in my books
I mislay, I bury you, alive:
With fabrications, bind you,
With any pretense, cover you.
25 June 1922
translated from the Russian by Mary Jane White
The Georgia Review