Sevenme The household

Мария Бухбиндер
Thus, here in persons if spoken a word
Of family's saga, of family's swarm,
The air's X-rayed and agreed in a throat
To family's era (as nothing to hawk);

To hawk by an azure, and slumbers go through,
So, avian are tables and drawers from the rooms.
It's dragged street organ to lilac intent
To family's wafers to family's packs;

A verge to oblivion its family's draught,
Remainder of paper, reminder of plant.

Oh, family being (if to clasp with a cheek),
And fall on a floor with the things as we were...
To lean with the shoulders against waiting hall:
As we were, as we did, as we settled before.

Oh, family tightness -- each other to pass
Like in hole by a slippery gutter of clan;
And light of indoors is a vasoconstriction,
In comfort to play till a bedtime of death...

To testify rest ( in a mirror we'd been)
On a virtual base and of almost short-length..
On a path of July and on various turbines
There's family records, there's family clay...

...Just where it closer to wait in a snow
For solid potatoes and shutters to close,
And is snow on a porch like a threshold on rays...
(Those family's brackets, those family's tests.)

Just where the balconies hang overhead,
Like lungs in a crossing desiring breath;
But time is all found with no lodging board...
(There family's doses, there family's bonds.)

Thus, let this proximity burning for keeps,
Thus let it to be all the more falling leaves:
Beyond passion of blame, beyond a syllable flexed
Is family's Lethe, is family's dress...