I’ll build a house where the sun crashes down,
a shoreline splintered in light and sound.
Will you slip through on Fridays, unbound?
Stay longer days—let the clocks drown. Your water’s too bitter; try a sip of my glass.
Does it fit? Of course, it does—
the way sunlight fits the open road.
I’ll leave the door unlocked.
I’m always waiting, And the sun’s packed already To guide you here. My poem, originally in Russian (2011), adapted into English in 2024.