YE V G E N Y Y E V T U S H E N K O: In any man who dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight. Not people die but worlds die in them.
What do we know of brothers, of friends?
What do we know of our one and only?
And about our own fathers,
knowing everything, we know nothing.
They perish. They cannot be brought back.
Their secret worlds are not regenerated.
And every time I want again
to cry out against the unretrievableness.
