The Bees

The bees, like big drops of honey
carrying grapevines to the sun,
came flying out of my youth;
the apples, these heavy apples,
are also from my youth;
the gold-dust road,
these white pebbles in the stream,
my faith in songs,
my freedom from envy,
the cloudless day, this blue day,
the sea flat on its back, naked and warm,
my longing, these bright teeth and full lips—
they all came to this Caucasian village
like big drops of honey on the legs of bees
out of my youth, the youth I left somewhere
before I was through.

13 September 1958
Arhipo Osipovka