She appeared in front of my nose on top of an adolescent tree for few moments
With a message from the angels.
But I don’t understand the language of angels.
I only know the fallen human language –
Russian and American fiction.
And, may be, I also know the language of dying.
But she knows how to start everything again without even for a moment stopping to be.
And when I come to the park I a bit obsessively search for her.
Not that I want to learn something – I‘m subdued by my limitations.
For me it’s either life or death.
And I don’t trust the fallen human imagination –
I don’t believe in living after death.
I believe in humming bird – in her wisdom and humility,
In her tininess full of eternal vitality.
Here she is, under the blue, turning her head, looking around, moving her wings,
Pushing the sky with her beak thin as a hair.
I cannot leave, I need to keep her presence.