I

'Papa, tell me where the whole world ends!' —
Philosophically, solution I request.
Answers he: 'See, where the sun descends,
Just behind that hut, beyond hill's crest.'
Really? If it's so — I would not think:
Catch up with the setting sun! I run,
In a silver net of tears, up, to the brink,
Where the whole world ends and hides the sun!
Eyes are begging the Siberian God
Not to make my longing all in vain.
All the zillion years before me nod,
Trembling in the snow: Be blessed again.

II

Back of me, my father — tiny dot.
Toward the sun is galloping my heart.
Now, I run uphill and reach the hut!
Eagerness still beckons, won't depart.
To the bonfire, over howling pit,
Stretch my lips, my body would descend.
Papa, see, the world goes on a bit,
And there is no, is no, is no end.
Papa cannot hear. A star will blanch.
Papa cannot see, out of the blue,
How a boy becomes an avalanche
Made of light and wonderment anew.