Once more we're living by the bay,and clouds of black smoke drift, daily, above us.Our own Vesuvius has cleared its throat;volcanic ash is settling in the side streets.Our windowpanes have rattled to its roaring.Some day we too will be shrouded with ashes.And when that happens, at that awful moment,I'd like to take a streetcar to the outskirtsof town and find your house;and if, after a thousand years,a swarm of scientists should come hereto dig our city out, I hope they'll find me,cloaked with the ashes of our modern epoch,and everlastingly within your arms.
I was very saddened to learn of Vika's passing on your blog. I was among her many admirers who worked with her for six months on a cultural exchange exhibit in the USSR in the mid-1970s. Still, I am touched to see her photo and posting of verse from one of her favorite poets.
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