by Attila Mohylny, 1993

Flying south through the night
On the highway of dreams
In the blue dust of the road
Your sweetheart at your side.
To recognize her after a hundred years
On the knife's edge
In the valley of long rains
In the music of thunderstorms;
Or late at night in a cafe
In the fragile sorrow
Of a blue glance
Softened by shadows.
After one hundred years
To recognize her in the music
In the light silhouette of a wing
In the glow of a glance.
And then as you pass her
Whisper "You're mine."
Flying south through the night...

translated from the Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps

moh10.doc 6/12/93

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