. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The passage is shot upwards.

St Andrew’s is soaked

in stringy May, and phantom knights

look downward through limpid air.

The Descent in swaying in the rhythm

of footsteps, the Descent changes its skin

and rebuilds, and in its make-up

like in shining armor attacks

the gray formation of routine. Pull the veil!

Amidst the ears, I’m in the forest,

amidst the eyes, like many candles,

and eye-to-eye with a motionless beast,

which is the audience, it is watching,

it is crumpling wipers, its nose is running,

it hides boos and hisses in its mouth,

it needs and craves for a silly circus,

it roars and tears through the net,

and it is waiting for ‘V.W.’!

1. W., those are my initials,

it does not matter, yet it changes

nothing, there were

no theater-goers, and the play

was not planned either, just

the reading of my poems, and The Wails

have gathered the fans of Bubabism…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

May – July, 1991

Lviv