from So Yes poetry collection “Дека да”

I’m writing to you quickly, piled up:
as it rains
in this cold spring
while the boughs are heavy
under the sky cheeks. it’s pouring.
I’m writing to you in a quiet room:
only the noise of a sound check
(playing for you in my head)
rings. it’s somehow ruthless
this music of dewy images and
scents. (drops again, now the tiniest)
my gentleness is a small hint:
quieted tone in the whirlpool of the world.
your noisy and strong wind
slowly becomes silent before powerlessness.
it’s raining outside, not inside me. a draught
only breaks in my chest. striking
its every angle, and I’m writing to you. while it pours,
while the water rushes to all cracks.
I’m writing to you as I am, trying to…
I’m writing to you out of despair. the quietest.
waiting for the sky water to get tired.
I’m thirsty.