* * *

"...My old notebook is found!

And there – some more virces from the same cycle. I want to share my joy – just to think, the notebook during about a year was lying on some stairway or elsewhere, and now is found..."

Rain falls down day and night and day and longer
Rain falls and falls upon exquisite poplars,
It whips the roofs with heavy whip of silver,
Its power ever multiplies my joy.
Now were I to go out - it'd beat my shoulders...
And crook slides down from wet and slippery roof,
The crook slides down, I jump up to the window,
And now the crook is ceasing out of view,
But suddenly the black bird's casual movement
My mind repeats in every minute feature:
The crook moves down from eaves, is sliding down
And flies down on me with wings unfurled,
And down again, and down on me again,
And raindrops all the same are whipping tin roofs,
The bird's the same, the poplars are the same,
And nothing could escape the repetition,
And even me run up to windowsill
I am the same, the same in future moment.

© Katy J. Trend, 1992