On this day of sky-blue bears Running across quiet eyelashes, I divine beyond the blue waters In the cup of my eyes an order to wake. The silver spoon of my extended eyes Offers me a sea buoying a storm petrel; And I see how the Russian bird flies Through unknown lashes to the roaring sea. A sea of heavenlove has capsized Someone's sail in the round-blue water, But the first storm is hopeless and gone And from now on the journey is spring.