after three wildest hours
and forty four raging minutes
sitting up alone
with no witness
how can I quietly sleep
and evade to dream
any thorn-apples, foxholes
mulberry trees
in oddly detailed scenes
and the like sequence of visions
that chase me at will
shredding my precision
I better go somewhere else
but treat me well
when eyes need to rest
electric lights cannot help
so I've burn the cane
tonight on a boggy shore
and pallid fire came
and high above owl roared
last line, the most important one of a poem, was found in a novel of forgotten siberian writer)))