It is a small hour. I am reading Akhamatova
And inspired to write a love poem to an Anna.
I search my bowels and mind for one phrase for a déjà vu look,
And realize sadly that you must be hiding into a dim tabernacle.
On my wall there is a square of gloomy sky.
In my desklamp, my wife's black hair is pale,
She makes a turn and murmurs, and suddenly she becomes old
Reminding me of my grandma and that summer
When she was lying on the deathbed with her three-inch-lotus feet.
That season I was somewhere far away from there and then,
And in one early morning I dreamt of a foreign woman in an ancient castle;
For the whole month there, we made love diligently and fucked each other hard,
Like two vampires huddling in the last corner of shelter from daylight.
That morning dream made me believe that I could fall into you years later.
Menlo Castle, Galway, Ireland
I had a dream in my sophomore year (1984 summer) of an ancient castle and a Western woman, and in the same dream I dreamt of my grandmother's death which did take place one month later. I was horrified again by the weird "coincidence". I visited Ireland in 2004 summer with an Irish-origin woman from US, and saw some castles for the first time in my life. This castle is Menlo Castle in Galway, burnt down around 1910.