Vadim Shefner. (№ 354303)

And somewhere where we will not return
In early childhood, in adolescence, away, -
Still jealous, and laugh,
And I believe that arriving ships.
At the age there is not to be excused, -
And there are not crushed herbs in a meadow
And Penelope in bleached calico
All waiting for me on the long shore.
Sitting, hands covering the knee,
Face-to-fading dawn,
Miraculously, intact -
Like a moth, stuck in amber.