The hour of hooded crows
when cleaners fly for the night
all carrion is eaten
all bones picked and all skins
farewell you unlucky trail explorers!
only a wet spot left now
where a careless black furry mole came to the surface
out of its secret passages,
a failed resident of the garden depths
waves of black wings
on a red background of the dawn
shouts of hook-nosed elders
– they were never here those creatures! we’ve never seen them before!
you make it up
to make us look bad!
mocking them brashly,
the young crows echo them,
– no, of course it wasn’t us!
Translation from the Russian