asked and opened Tarkovsky's book of poetry, received the answer):
* * *
summer is over, as if never happened. At prigreve heat. Just not enough. All that to come true could, for me, as five-fingered leaf, into the hands of lay. Just not enough. Wasted no evil, no good is not lost, all burning bright. Just not enough. Life took under his wing, protected and saved. I am really lucky. Just not enough. Leaves are not burned, the branches not broken off ... Day washed like glass. Just not enough. Haaaa) But two days ago, looked the same, "Stalker" and a poem that sounded in it an echo of the sea)) Sometimes the same is ...
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