The car rumbled and came to a stop.
Two emerged into the space of evening,
and the driver, exhausted by work,|
slumped down wearily onto the wheel.
Constellations of lights, far away,
trembled gently through the windshield.
The aged passenger lingered a while
with his lady beside the flowerbed.
And the driver, through sleepy eyelids,
suddenly noticed two faces,
turned to each other for eternity,
completely forgetting themselves.
Two hazy and delicate lights
shone from them, and all around
the passing summer’s beauty
embraced them with hundreds of arms.
Here there were fire-like cannas,
like glasses of bloody wine,
and the grey plumes of aquilegias,
and daisies in golden crowns.
Awaiting autumnal minutes,
and grief’s unavoidable taste,
the lovers were surrounded
by a fleeting ocean of bliss.
And leaning close to each other,
like homeless children of the night,
they strolled silently through the flowers
in the electric glow of the light.
While the car stood in the darkness,
and the engine rumbled to a start,
and the driver gave a weary smirk,
rolling down the window at his side.
He knew that the summer was ending,
that soon there’d be rain and snow,
that their little song had been sung –
but they, they didn’t know.
(1957)
source: The Penguin Book of Russian Poetry
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Author: The Best American Poetry
