From a Distance

Written by Dmytro Chystiak

Morning frost. Grey gloom in the distance.

Cold voices rising from the night.

Your water-lily trembles in my hand,

But in the eyes a high call quivers

From afar. And a golden phantom

At dawn, on the feast of Transfiguration, the first bells

Ring out in purity’s embrace – unfathomable

Time divides between

This grey loneliness on the edge of an abyss

And a resounding cry of before-the-storm delight,

At dawn, on the feast of Transfiguration, in union.

Yet even then a strange thought comes to mind –

That once all time was one

Your wine, matured for years,

With the caution of bewildered youth

With near death yearning above the sea,

With a childish stirring (like seashells do

We curl into the night against a dream)

In passion’s twilight – not ourselves

We make love – in distant intertwining

Of other rivers, waterfalls and heights

Woven into oneness before the summer…

Will you return from beyond the sea – I do not know.

Or will the sea wash me away by morning?

It matters not! – A high call quivers in the eyes

From the distance when we lay entwined together.