The Singing
By Misha Feigin
When I become this rain
and these dark still trees
touching the restless air
with their swollen buds,
I will be this soft humid night,
and this golden shining lamp
by the window in a quiet room.
When I become a reflection
of the lamp in your eyes,
I will become you, and you
will be a bird, perched
on a naked tree branch,
a ruffled sparrow crazy with
spring, full of longing, delight,
and pain that will become
this song, but
who will be the singer?
