I close the eyes - the world lost his borders.
Real only my palm and surface beneath it.
Under your skin hidden a source of melting
For the glaciers of Antarctic, for endless snowfields.
The spine for pert fingers like slope for mountain skis:
Beginning the descend, already foresee ski-jump.
If I not will go mad (I hope it be not now),
I can to distinguish your among the many other spins.