And what remains from love

by Vladimir Gandelsman
 translated by Anna Halberstadt

And what remains from love
Is only a handful of ashes,
just enough to fill a small thimble.
No, the soul no longer fears
to be unloved.

Here, hold a pair of mittens,
a workman’s quilted jacket,
a 40-watt electric bulb,
a cup of cold water and a mouse
guarding the doors.
Whose are you now?  No one’s.

You will live, warming the darkness
with your two-legged two-handed
heat, you’ve owed your happiness
to just a few, and you will—
to no one,

This is what should make you happy…
but still, also fear at last,
that even then God will
be less precious to you,
than the ashes, the thimble and dust.