You don’t believe?

by Victor Sosnora
translated by Genya Turovskaya

You don’t believe?  I do believe!  So don’t believe then!
While I pulverize autumn, black chess men walk over the snow,
while I go on about autumn, the days are at nil,
black gales are poured into cups.
This sky, its implacable wail,
not reading books, it hammers black planks in place,
builds over the world a blockade of days
in the acid of nights, where nails are sword-like.
Close your mind and multiply your rage,
lay two ears down on a stone pillow,
the lighthouse grows unused to the sun, shine on and on
all day under a little—low watt—bulb.