A Sonnet to Form

There is some subtle, imperious connection
Between the flower's perfume and silhouette,
Such is the diamond's invisible perfection
Until the facets make it animate.

So are the images of ever changing fancies,
That, like the clouds, in the heavens race,
Turned into stone, they exist for centuries
In a fulfilled, exactly chiselled phrase.

And I belief, that all my dear dreams,
That have attained the world of word and light,
May find for them the long-awaited brims.

And may my friend, in every poem's site
Take full delight in sweetness of a rime
And in beauty of its letters' streams.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2000