Alexander Karpenko


I still remember that night:
hungry stars,
sticking round hunk of the Moon,
a fright of your night dress
enveloping the snow-white body of my goddess,
petalous darkness of your eyes.
We walked along deserted street,
and suddenly I saw
a flame-coloured rider
dropping unexpectedly a silver horse-shoe.

Now everything is in the past.
Petalous darkness of your eyes
has fallen down
under the north wind’s blow.
Boy’s catapult of a naughty Cupid
destroyed evening lamps in the street.
And only anonymous stars
sing for themselves
a kind of long, long ago
forgotten choral.