Yes, Son
Yes, Son,
Even when it is not the season of your death
I live to remember you
And in every place, every new notice of death
Brings new longings for you
My ton
Of grief weighs heavier than the all the seas
Nothing dries it, nor tropic sun, nor balm breeze
We ran
There once, we played that game, we hugged
The same dream in our hearts
From the outside let them believe I shrugged
This, inside I'm nailed with darts
I scan
All possibilities to vision how it would be here
If I could substitute you again for my tear.
Mikhail
Grief has no season, and hope no horizon for me
To beat you at chess again
The waves on the shore are each like my memory
But nothing washes pain
Fragile
Is the heart that loves, and mortality too feeble
For love's lost, it droops all fire, who can be able?
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