The edema is gone
unfortunately the audio records of the poem THE FOREST DARK DREAM OF THE LEG IN THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOUNTAIN ... not yet.
The forest fell asleep in the swelling of the mountains,
In the branches there is a thick smell of oak.
From the clearing, I look, as I do
A giant globe stands a mountain.
And under me blurry valleys
In the convolutions, like a naked brain,
And the bronze skeletons of the earth
They are melted into the indigo sea.
Sticking a stick into a mobile scree,
I climb up the slope. Heart breaks,
And the muscles of tired legs go numb,
And shakes, bubbling, chest.
Here the whole peninsula is stretched out below.
The white wave of Azov is turning blue,
And gray steam behind the thinnest Arrow
Smoked and shaken Sivash.
And ahead of the surf grotto
Stony ridges froze,
All higher, all blue, rose, soared, -
The tide of granite, swept up by the sun,
And the sun, bleeding black,
Merciless blows after the blow
Strives into me, into the cliffs, into the sea, into the sky,
And I have already erected on top,
Covered with a shining expanse, -
And only small soles of the feet
I am still connected to the ground.
And a strange roar rolls around in silence:
Not the noise of the forest, the non-dimensional whistling of the wind, -
As if the earth rumbles in space,
Giant in the sky rushing through the core,
Or is it God in the throne workshop
Celestial spheres flywheels.
And the arms extend across the cross,
And on their hands, as if stigmata are ripening,
And as the organ sails with honey humming
Shattered faith and love ...
And I command Karadagh
Move and plunge into the wave.