In Chile pepper fields

Im in Moscow.
You live in Chile.
You have there, may be
Hot.

I don't know nothing
About Chile
And about Santiago.
Bulls and corrida -
Is in Spain.

I thought about
Fernando Cortes
And he imagined to me
Like Javier Bardem.

And you never, may be
Dont see snow,
Only on pictures.
But we have January
And snow only dirt
And slush
And little bit.

In Santiago
So much Sun
And dont want
To read Wikipedia.
Sun, sea,
And Chile.

I know about Chile
Only that there are
Such sharp pepper.

And now else
That there is a
City Santiago.
And there live you
And wander on the streets.
And had meeting sunrises...

Or it only
On cine-film
Of my fantasies
Glares.

But in my refrigerator
Chebupeli
And I cant explain
What it is.

And else there is Botticelli
It seems art painter
(Not totally sure)
But, when I close
My eyes,
I see
Fully fill bright
Dusty sun
Roads,
And your
Graceful slender legs,
On non drawn
Paintings Botticelli.

And oranges
Which you, may be,
Pluck right form branches.
And I hear how
Works air conditioning.
In your room.
In Santiago swelter.

Girl from photographys
On which forever
Chillian summer.

(But I cant cook
even huevo tortilla)

And in general
I have three night on clock.
And on morning
In Moscow
Sun
Start burning behind the houses.
And antennas stick up
(Like rock carvings
Minds about wigwam)

I can not speak
And write in english.

But de repente Chile, Santiago
From point on the map
Se convierte en muy cerca.
And you del sol chica.
De risa on Spanish.

So I want to get
Paints of imagination
And splash on paper
And sketch about Chile
(Geography in school
Passed by away)

So
Im in Moscow
And you in Santiago, Chile.

I will send you
Valuable parcel
Some nieve
And little glass cup
Of moscow melancholy.

You send me in answer
Your inky black ara'ndanos
Waving curls.

And I my sole
Step on fir-needles
To coniferous forrest lake.

And you would reply
By speck of summer
And inrush
Chilean de risa.

               


                to Beri.