An evil wind stubbornly tossed anxiety into my chest,
Raising up the overfed flocks of maddened birds.
Let them fly away. Let them fly away quickly!
I wander in silence through empty nests, like fog.
My breathing is uneven... Sip by sip... As if in a heavy delirium.
And the puddles squirm, devouring leaves and feathers.
I won't see myself in this fog now,
And only under this... long ago... deep... somewhere.
It's like a floor of raw, still warm bones
Of barely flayed feelings and absurd moments.
All this has completely covered all doubt:
Love will be there... Only there... forever... and no one else's.
I'm taking a sip... somehow... little by little... a drop in my chest...
And I'm not healing, the guilt is a hateful pain.
Only drunken demons dance ecstatically at liberty.
And love cries—it's impossible to sleep under it.
Love is tired, bending under the weight of delirium,
Trying to try on wet feathers for wings.
Only in this medicine do I believe, even in despair,
In the fog I carry it along a blurred trail.
