So that you can not see me
In life-I surround myself
With a piercing, invisible fence.
I will gird myself with honeysuckle,
I will cover my self with frost.
So that you can not listen to me
At night-in an old woman’s wisdom:
In reticence-I will strengthen myself
I will gird myself with rustlings,
I will cover myself with flutterings.
So that in me you can not blossom
Too much-among the undergrowth:
I will lose you alive among my books.
I will gird you with fantasies,
I will cover you with imaginary thoughts.
– Marina Tsvetaeva, After Russia