Night froze on guard, clenched its little fist

by Bakhyt Kenjeev
     translated by J. Kates

* * *

Night froze on guard, clenched its little fist.  I’d
downed a shot of brandy, lay down on my side,
A sharp moan maybe: weight of wind on a willow,
a gray mouse happily waving its tail.

Companion of my soul, coo, dove of my blood.
You ask: love or death? Both are equally good
Or bad, bother me no end, both abduct
light and hemoglobin from the depth of the heart.

You don’t want to stand in either winter or wind,
both tempt in the twilight their whisper of sin.
And so you doze sadly and simply breathing in, ah! —
the timorous heavens dumbfounded stars.