Yuriy Serebriansky - After Lilichka

All efforts to touch loneliness fail.
Both from here and the other side,
they fail.
But lost in the steppe a solitary tree
catches my eye.
Approaching, I see
the tree already has a bird,
singing like a flute,
in the hollow, warming its insides.
I’m ready to devour
my desire, drink
warm blood, feel
the beauty of the bird’s fading heart beat the steps of my retreat.