Sviatoslav Zhabotynskyi

in places of darkness the fern is quiet like an old man in places of darkness...

in places of darkness
the fern is quiet
like an old man in places of darkness

the fern rustles
quietly
as if in a hut
where the baby sleeps

redheads are dressed
in towels from the chest
they give to ferns
their collective tongue

the smoke trail leads in the ravine
where are the cow bones

all that remains is
to listen