Distance: versts, miles . . .
divide us; they’ve dispersed us,
to make us behave quietly
at our different ends of the earth.
Distance: how many miles of it
lie between us now – disconnected –
crucified – then dissected.
And they don’t know – it unites us.
Our spirits and sinews fuse,
there’s no discord between us,
though our separated pieces lie outside
the moat – for eagles!
This conspiracy of miles
has not yet disconcerted us,
however much they’ve pushed us, like
orphans into backwaters.
– What then? Well. Now it’s March!
And we’re scattered like some pack of cards!
- Marina Tsvetayeva
(translated by Elaine Feinstein)