Lyudmila Konstantinovna Tatyanichenoy. (№ 401494)

Everything has become the past:
Clouds
And trembling lips, and bird talk.
My steady hand
Your face from clay sculpts.
Men's proud features
And mouth
Not knowing confessions.
Yes you are
Yes, again you
Look through the range of distances!
Your opinion, on me it burned,
Your opinion, mocking, and long.
Fire I tempered clay,
So as not crumbled God.