On the blue, the diamond snow, I write
With the wind as with a magic pen,
Straying in the shimmering depth and light
Of his childhood. Never seen, as then,
Such lucidity, which grips, compels
All the lonely shadows of your mind.
Like a sled bedecked with longing bells,
Thin and long, my life will toll behind,
Through the evening steppe. And in its mirror,
Moon will press her nose against the glass,
With two wings, reflecting brighter, clearer,
Sparkling brass.