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Summer steals in slowly
and very quickly, like all other summers
as you expect the beautiful and dreadful unknown
in the hot still air

The street burgeons, dark like a forest
in the summer afternoon
It seems it has always been like this, always summer.
The world is never anything but summer

I pluck out a fiber or two out of its core
but the fabric holds tight
spread out in between the tree trunks and the blades of grass
blinding, eternal, bursting with bitter dandelions

the original poem

translated by oksana maksymchuk

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