to you,
whose eyes are now looking
in the mirror of my lines…
I
i spent a long time thinking,
about how to start my book of letters…
and what to call it?
poems within letters…
letters from the loony bin…
letters from paradise…
letters to myself…
letters to you…
we all write letters to someone.
so i didn’t notice
how i had already started…
reading yours — i write an answer:
hello to you!
witness to the great battle
of illusion and reality!
II
in the subway.
the underground home of a large gloomy family.
here there is us,
our consciousness,
our memories,
which means that there is everything here.
birds,
space,
continents,
kings and queens,
presidents,
artists…
what difference is there between a Mondrian
and a marble pattern
on a subway wall?
the first and the latter both attract people to themselves,
as destinies rush past one and the other,
staying true to their values…
to their art…
to their prisons.
here a person sits:
... 
