night watch, cometess! old snow!
in the middle of the night, in summer, hissing,
light spittle trails, volley of a
blue-gleaming bolide! as if by wire
cracking by light tracers; a rare sight, such a
galactic screen of non-virtual depth-
effect. darting forward; bounding past,
and, far leaving behind, stripy
standing still, to disappear. another
one, he or she. already va-
nished. just like that a stag's bound from here,
whistling, 'as if from horse nostrils.' so, that
this sort of dots, tailed, hissing-
by dots, which for a while
(time's nostril) stops still; and another
one. a small one. totally better than...,
didn't they say back when, kolossal? the tower-
ing white slashes. drawing a thread.
hiss-pierced snow. us earless,
white-eyed under the blanket.

Translation Andrew Duncan