She chose the hour before the waking, The empty shore, the early light — A woman skilled at the art of taking What men believe belongs by right. He’d passed her twice without once turning, This painter blind to what she'd shown — She smiled at something slow and burning: The need to make his blindness known. She walked into the morning water, Each step a word he hadn't read, The kind of move no man had taught her, The kind that speaks before it's said. She felt the cold climb past her knowing, The water finding every line — And something in her blood was growing Too deep for reason to define. The morning light on wet skin gleaming, The silk a second skin, no more, Her grace beyond the reach of dreaming, Risen dripping from the shore. She stands in the last wash of dawning, Luminous and barely dressed, Her body bright beyond adorning, A wave that breaks against the breast. The cool breeze moves across her skin, Each droplet cold and rolling slow — Her body wakes, pulled from within To a want she doesn't quite yet know. Those painter's hands that live by learning, That spend whole mornings reading light — She feels her practiced power turning To want she has no will to fight. His eyes have answered, dark and clear, She reads the longing that they've shown — His face all lines, no softness here More man than beauty’s ever known. She wants his lips on every hollow, Each place of her, each secret one; She came to lead and make him follow, And finds she wants to be undone. The morning light on wet skin gleaming, The silk a second skin, no more, Her grace beyond the reach of dreaming, Risen dripping from the shore. She stands in the last wash of dawning, Luminous and barely dressed, Her body bright beyond adorning, A wave that breaks against the breast. The canvas holds the morning, unfinished. Some light, once seen, cannot be painted.

He comes before the shore has woken, Before the sun has named the sea, Into the silence, cool and open, His easel set for what he'll see. He's worked this hour through every season, Knows every shade the morning makes, A man kept whole by want and reason, Who asks no more than morning takes. She rises from the water, turning, Dark silk made bright against the sky, The fabric wet, the low light burning Along the grace it cannot hide. His brush hand stops without a warning. The painter's eye becomes a man's. And all the cold command of morning Runs out like water through the sands. The morning light on wet skin gleaming, The silk a second skin, no more, Her grace beyond the reach of dreaming, Risen dripping from the shore. She stands in the last wash of dawning, Luminous and barely dressed, Her body bright beyond adorning, A wave that breaks against the breast. He wants his mouth against her shoulder, The taste of salt along her spine, Burns hotter as the man grows older, And turns restraint to thirst and wine. He wants to trace what light has given, Each line the running water kissed, To trespass where he is forbidden, And touch the place the light has missed. He finds her where the daylight closes, Her body warm against the stone, Her skin aglow as night discloses, Her hunger answering his own. The sea turns black beneath them, burning, The night wind presses through her hair, She draws him in, the dark surf churning, And leaves no room for thought or prayer. The morning light on wet skin gleaming, The silk a second skin, no more, Her grace beyond the reach of dreaming, Risen dripping from the shore. She stands in the last wash of dawning, Luminous and barely dressed, Her body bright beyond adorning, A wave that breaks against the breast. The canvas holds the morning, unfinished. Some light, once seen, cannot be painted.

Rain on the glass. Darkness in the room. A wet autumn evening wears me like a coat. I’m tired— cold to the bone. Silence, then a sound I almost know. Happy and bitter— how can that be? I turn around and there you are. You stepped out of the dark and look at me. I don’t move. If I reach out, will you stay? You used to light candles on nights like this, warm your hands by the flame— and then I’d hear that sound. It’s your voice. That careless laugh. I try to hold it in this room— that silver sound— but it fades, and the silence comes back. Back then we only heard ourselves. You said, “I’ll never get old. No grey hair. No lines.” I laughed—didn’t understand. You held me, kissed my face. “You men are such fools,” you said, and the world fell away. Now—silence. A stranger’s voice. Rain on the glass. And that sound behind me. Happy and bitter. How can that be? It’s your voice. That careless laugh. I try to hold it in this room— but it fades, and the silence comes back. You were small-boned. I could span your wrist with my fingers. I carried you once up two flights of stairs. You laughed—said I was strong. I believed you. Now in the dark I see your silhouette. And I understand: you were not the one I held. You were the one holding me all along. In the silence I hear your laugh. I want it to stay— but it slips away. Like rain on the glass. You stayed young forever. I let my life pass.

I’m crossing the park when a lady glides into view, She whispers: “My darling, I’ve waited a lifetime for you.” — “Do I know you?” — “Oh yes! We were close — don't forget me so fast. I’m the part of your soul that you thought was the past.” — “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken my face.” — “No, love. You’ve been running away from this place. Shall we dance?” — “But I’m clumsy... and this is a park, not a hall.” — “A waltz only needs the heart to recall.” And my memory dances through Arbat tonight, Treading barefoot on strings of the vanishing years. And it carries me back to the lamps fading light, To the dreams that were new, to the youth that I knew, To a life that dissolves into tears. And now there’s no reason for sorrow to keep us apart, We’re dancing a White Waltz—I can't refuse her my heart. Though she isn’t young, not a shadow has marked her skin, While I’m mapped with the lines of the battles I didn't win. — “Do you know what will happen when I’ve tired of the chase?” — “I don't. Tell me now... or don't. Let the silence take place.” — “Let us hush, then.” — “Yes. I won’t try to guess how it ends. Fate doesn't bargain. It doesn't make deals or make friends.” And my memory spins through the Arbat tonight, Treading barefoot on razors of time as they gleam. And it pulls me back close to the lamps dying light, To the bells that have tolled, to the secrets we hold, To a life that passed by like a dream. In a mad, spinning whirl we turn round and around, The old park is gone and there’s no longer ground. We are waltzing on air over streets that we knew, Over doorways and lampposts and ghosts passing through... Closer! Faster! The world is a blur! Only heartbeat and breath where we were. I held her so tight that the ache was a sweet, hurting bliss, And she looked in my eyes with the weight of a kiss. “Are you mad? Would you carry us both to the sky? To leave all of this? To just vanish and die?” — “I came to remind you of all you let slip through your hand, Before the road ends in the dust and the sand. Cherish me. Without me, you’ve no road to find. Cherish me! Keep me! Or leave nothing behind!” Her silhouette fades as the sunset burns down to a spark, The wind brings a guitar’s last chord from the dark. “Cherish me,” whisper maples, the old Arbat’s trees. “Don’t forget me,” the sidewalk repeats on the breeze.

Through fog on a road of ash and bone Four heavy paws at his heel, a silence is grown Head low to the ground, tail hanging still No water, no bread, just his steps and her will The air tastes of nothing, the road has no name They keep looking for a place from where they came. And then gold in the distance, the lanterns and gates Blazing and open where everything waits He speaks to the guard, the guard shakes his head Heaven has rules was all that he said. She knows it the way that the frost settles in She turns from the light to the winter within She doesn't look back at the glow and the warmth Just paws on the gravel walking away Into the dark so he's able to stay Just love in its quietest form. Then she hears the tread, a break in the blur He bows down his head with his hands in her fur The path has no end, she is held to his chest He chooses his friend over fire, bread, and rest The warmth of his hands says more than words can The road starts again, the road starts again. The second city is smaller and the moon feels near Its gate locked and quiet, yet waiting to hear Like someone asleep inside who will rise if you ask He knocks once then harder, a key turns a latch The keeper stands holding a lamp in the frame of the door He says nothing, just enter, he's seen this before... A soup in a bowl, water poured to the brim She lies at his feet and she watches him He lifts up his head and he asks the way travelers ask Where are we? What city is this? How do we get back? Something inside her grows quiet and clear The old man's words find their way to her ear She always was listening, now she hears There is no road back, says the keeper at last You left the old world when your spirit passed She stayed by your bed, she followed your way This city is heaven, you're welcome to stay. The old man says, but we passed a city of light... The keeper looks down at the dog in the night That place is for those who leave love in the cold The lanterns are bright, the gates are all gold Whatever they told you, whatever they tell The name of that city is - HELL!

In a velvet cloak of a fading day, She walked the path where the shadows play. An elegant ghost in a world of stone, She found a girl weeping all alone. "Why are your eyes like a stormy sea?" "A woman said there is no grace for me. She said I’m ugly, that life is a cage." The Lady smiled, and turned the page: "Dry your eyes, little bird, she lied. Your smile is the sun where the angels hide. Everything will be alright." In the amber glow of a streetlamp’s fire, She found a woman caught in the wire Of bitter tears and a breaking heart. "My world," she sobbed, "is falling apart. Someone told me his love is a ghost, That he’s gone to the one he treasures most." The Lady leaned near, her voice was light: "She gave you a wound and called it sight. He’s only weary, he’s working late. Don’t let a shadow decide your fate. Everything will be alright." Oh, she walks in beauty, she walks in light, A silver blade in the heart of the night. She carries the hope that the weary need, Sowing the dream like a golden seed. By the edge of the river, where the willows weep, An old woman woke from a restless sleep. "Oh, Beauty," she cried, "I’m fading away. A voice told me this is my final day. But who will care for my cat in the cold?" The Lady touched her with hands of gold: "She lied, grandmother. The cure is near. Go to the healer. Surrender your fear. Everything will be alright." "Who are you, angel? I’ve known you so long. You carried my soul like a sacred song. Forgive me — I never asked for your name." The Lady’s eyes were a gentle flame: "My name is Truth," she softly replied. The old woman shivered, her eyes opened wide: "But the one who hurt me, who brought the gloom, She called herself Truth in my lonely room." The Lady looked down with a saintly sigh, “She wore my name, but told you a lie. There’s only one Truth — I am the one,” The Lie replied as the day was done. That night, in the dark, where the silence grows, The old woman died... with the smile of a rose.

I stand at my corner in cold and in rain Not for your pity, not for your small change If my hands stop turning the whole world would stall So I keep on playing — I carry it all. Turn, turn, hurdy-gurdy, turn No mercy in it — this is what they earn The world only breathes while my hands obey Turn, turn — and let it have another day. The rich look down at the poor at their gate The poor look up at the rich and they hate Yet neither can stand if the other should fall My hands keep them turning — I sustain them all. Turn, turn, hurdy-gurdy, turn It feeds and breathes and will not learn It turns on my music, it lives on my play Turn, turn — and let it rot another day. I see the one with gold rings on his hands Who sells away justice and buys up the land He breathes my air, walks on my turning ground I keep him alive — that's the bitterest sound Turn, turn, hurdy-gurdy, turn No mercy in it — this is what they earn The world only breathes while my hands obey Turn, turn — and let it have another day. And I see the mother who lied for her child The beggar, the debtor, the lost and the wild Don't ask me to judge what the desperate must do My hands keep on turning for all of them too. Turn, turn, hurdy-gurdy, turn It feeds and breathes and will not learn It turns on my music, it lives on my play Turn, turn — and let it rot another day The rich and the righteous will all have their turn To stand where I'm standing and finally learn Cold wind in your face and no coin left to spare — My music kept playing. I never did care. Turn, turn, hurdy-gurdy, turn It lives on my play... Turn, turn — and let it rot another day I never did care... Let it rot...

I lost my way one evening, took a turn I'd never known, And found a door set in a wall, half hidden and alone. No reason for it being there — and yet it pulled at me, As if beyond it something waited, something meant to be. The door swung open at my touch — no lock, no key, no chain — And I stepped through into a world that had no place for pain. The light was soft, the air was still, and I was strangely whole — A quiet joy I'd never felt reached all the way into my soul. Was it a dream — too vivid to be true? Or can reality be this achingly bright? I cannot tell, but something in me knew: That door is mine. I will return. I might. There is a door I cannot forget, It holds a world I almost knew. I haven't found my way back yet — But I will. I will go through. I saw the door again on a grey and hurried day, The wall, the paint, the same old pull — but I could not stay. I had my debts to pay, my promises to keep, Too many obligations running far too deep. It stood before me three times more, perhaps even four, Each time I said, not now — but I would find that door. I always had a reason, always some excuse, And told myself that living meant there was no time to lose. I know the door is real — I've always known. But I have built a life, and it has grown. And yet at night I ask myself what all my striving bought, If all I've worked to keep was worth the light that I forgot. There is a door I cannot forget, It holds a world I almost knew. I haven't found my way back yet — But I will. I will go through. Now nothing else will do, nothing else is real, No duty, debt, or dream can match the wound I feel. I walk the streets at dawn, I search at close of day, That door is all I want — I'll find it, come what may. Let all I built collapse to dust, let all of it be gone, I want the light I touched that day and then walked on. I'm close, I know I'm close — this feeling chills me to the bone, A man can only live so long in places not his own. At last — the door. I'd know it anywhere, That quality of light, that shift of air. It opens at my touch — no lock, no key, no chain — One step, and I will not turn back again. There is a door I cannot forget, It holds a world I almost knew. I haven't found my way back yet — But now at last I'm going through. A man was found this morning at the bottom of a shaft. Access to the site was through an unlocked door. The circumstances are being investigated.