Echo Poem by viacheslav kupriyanov
Echo
The stars glitter like the shards of a ringing crystal glass.
Who will return this sparkling dust to its primal form?
Where did the final echo of its fall condense?
Caught in a glass of wine, does it now wander our blood?
Translated from Russian by Francis R. Jones
Saturday, July 27, 2024
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7/21/2025 7:54:30 AM # 1.0.0
