(Note: the plywood floats - only there).
For the lines I pull, dropping a little lower,
Where the architect-era - in the right places:
Direct highways, the city, rifts,
Bois de Boulogne, Shamr de Mars and Jardin de Tuileries -
Green spots - strange, painful, familiar -
I'm not used to flying over you, Mon Paris!
Winding streets fjords, gorges, canyons
And skerries of blocks with colored reliefs of roofs ...
And that islet, which is familiar on the Earth - to millions,
Seeing that, we will exclaim in ecstasy: Paris!
On it, a rocket aimed at the sky -
And how many rustled, spat and argued in vain!
And time-judge - judged that this sign
Like everyone who flies, hovering over Paris! ..
Marina Chekina
Vladimir Kush western passage
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