To Jurij Solovij
The paper waited until all the green had arrived. A triangular mound rose up in the spot on the surface where the wave had passed. The white foam had the pattern of female pubic hair. It formed a line down the middle, top to bottom. Fragments of faces floated on all levels: a nose frail as a white butterfly, a pair of lips wearing a long silk smile, a cool porcelain forehead, a fragment of a soul looking like a blue eye. Without a woman! I’ve been cursed with a talent to become reborn again and again.
from the volume photographs are like flowers