Eugene Solovyov Koktebel

Koktebel: dusk descends, buzzing with giant moths.

Writers: Okudzhava, Yevtushenko, Slutsky, Aleshkovsky,

my mom, my dad, spin colorful tales and recite poems.

I meet a new, but ancient god – Poseidon – for the f rst time,

and I am daily tossed around by his waves. T e parks are

playground for all the other writers’ kids: Petya, Alesha, Bulya,

precocious adventurers like myself. At night under the stars,

silly, black-and-white comedies roll on an outdoor screen.

I learn to love mountains and clif s, the magical domain.

A memory from another age, another land, forever gone.