Miroslava METLEAEVA

November. The must is gathered in tears…

November. Must is gathered in tears:
the black necklace of „Isabella” flows
on the neuralgic, painted face
of trembling madam autumn.
The maple in the garden
lays a furtive hand
on autumn’s weary shoulders.
Some evening bowed down with frost
the wind will blow on the door
tricked out with the plainest of vestibules,
a flock of chattering
sparrows.
Throughout the garden,
fragments of sentences
flew like snowflakes.
On the white spot of the apathetic window
night went meandering after the gesture
of a sad hand . . .
And a subject that came slowly near
seemed to trickle down the window frame
like a line of an unfinished
poem.

Poems translated by
 ADAM J. SORKIN and CRISTINA CÎRSTEA