Finally I tamed it.
Initially it hissed like a predator, bit my fingers, later
it lashed out at me and knocked me off my feet, tore at my clothes and my hair, later
it stung me with its tentacles, spat poison into my eyes, sent me
anonymous threats with its images in states of anger, wrath, derangement.

While it slept, I approached it carefully
to pet its forehead, tickle it under its neck, breath into its ear.
Once it fell ill and lay there motionless, heavy, in fever.
I brought it a plum and a toy ship, crafted out of a walnut shell.
I squeezed out a drop of blood from my fingertip for it lick it off.

It turned away its mouth, snorted, hid its underbelly. Later
it snatched the gifts from my hands apprehensively, dragged them aside, consumed them in a hurry.
Once it brought me a baby albatross and set it a short distance away.
I love its peaceful nests, layered with secrets.

It is still an infant and lives in a shell.    

translated by oksana maksymchuk

the original poem