Glass Poetry Press

Volume Five Issue Two

Anatoly Kudryavitsky

The Lakeside Wind

In the grove of human trees, both cryptogamous and phanerogamous, each branch outlines a face. Beneath the reminiscences-of-rain-coloured sky volunteers are always there for the trees to water and fertilise them. They built their encampment in a glade. Small talk wafts over from the kitchen on the smell of onion gravy. The television is reporting fires and the deforestation of Martian woods to the empty tents. Inhaling the lakeside wind, a gnarled old woodman walks past withered trees that failed the difficult test of others' concern for them, and he envies each leaf which has managed to break free — with or without an inscription.