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words - Brodsky , muses. - L.Margolin

Nominally, the hermit ,
but in his heart - a brawler ,
pays for fifty dollars -
for orange leaf -
their scabs and repya ,
all chains - vrazves -
village rags ,
the splendor of heaven.

He found his bowl ,
he is not feeling legs
rushes into the thicket ,
if in a noisy tavern ,
and then break their fast with ,
there bawling in the wilderness,
finding oblivion
and the salvation of souls .

The last gold
having bought the blue ,
Autumn sunset in spots
pesnopevtsa foliage
teaches generous separation.
But this - grace -
a foreign land for the sounds ,
and not to leave the life .