A wing of eternity flashes above a serene night
and momentarily envelops the temple like flesh to a soul.

Poplars are snowballing,
and Maria turns her cheek to memories,
Maria is fixing her hair,
caring, glorious Maria of St. Petersburg.

'Let´s be together forever at least for a moment,'
I say, but Maria keeps walking in the 19th century.

Poplars are snowballing,
Maria tenders her soul with dreaming,
but the soul is a migratory bird
and Maria is back in St. Petersburg, walking.

'... it´s enough to become immobile within the immobile
and many a thousand departing birds
will fly through your gaze,'
I say and Maria´s hand falls asleep in mine.

English Translation from Martin Solotruk