"Повторяется всё?.. Но на каждом шагу всё - иное.
Время кажется кругом, но всё-таки это - спираль.
Наши жизни как нити (а можеть быть, волосы?) Мойры,
Вплетены в плат узорный, растянутый в звёздную даль."
by Victor Rivas-Vicente
A half-moon precise scratches the night sky, the white of an eye in orbit, almost watching the shadowless streets beneath. In this silence of light, a Vixen raps her susurrant milonga on mossy grounds, the ivory of her tail alone resonating with the spy above. But even now, Luna sinks, ever closer to her cunning sister, ruddling to match her fur.
A Cricket drums out sonatas to his caged lovers in Firefly Street, recalling unforgettable moments that were forgotten, and more than that... remembering embraces never given, steps never taken together, warmth nor breath exchanged. His beating wings, trembling, stuttering as unsure lips, forming nonetheless their question to the faint stars: "are you vain enough to think you'll ever occupy my oblivion?"
Время кажется кругом, но всё-таки это - спираль.
Наши жизни как нити (а можеть быть, волосы?) Мойры,
Вплетены в плат узорный, растянутый в звёздную даль."
by Victor Rivas-Vicente
A half-moon precise scratches the night sky, the white of an eye in orbit, almost watching the shadowless streets beneath. In this silence of light, a Vixen raps her susurrant milonga on mossy grounds, the ivory of her tail alone resonating with the spy above. But even now, Luna sinks, ever closer to her cunning sister, ruddling to match her fur.
A Cricket drums out sonatas to his caged lovers in Firefly Street, recalling unforgettable moments that were forgotten, and more than that... remembering embraces never given, steps never taken together, warmth nor breath exchanged. His beating wings, trembling, stuttering as unsure lips, forming nonetheless their question to the faint stars: "are you vain enough to think you'll ever occupy my oblivion?"
