It is not my blood, but sunlight pulsing
In the veins of almost brown arm.
I'm alone with my love unpassing
To my own soul's charm.
Waiting for the hopper, casting seconds,
Tearing a stalk of reed to chew...
- So unusually strong and quintessential
is the scent of being - running through.
Original: www.tsvetayeva.com/poems/solncemzilki