Dictionary of Wilno Streets (1967)
Why should that city, defenseless and pure as the wedding necklace of a forgotten tribe, keep offering itself to me?
Like blue and red brown seeds beaded in Tuzigoot in the copper desert seven centuries ago.
Where ocher rubbed into stone still waits for the brow and cheekbone it would adorn, though for all that time there has been no one.
What evil in me, what pity, has made me deserve this offering?