A PRAYER (1) O Lord! I have seen the convex shards of bronze bugs in the withered grass. The golden fur of a bumblebee husk has crumbled between my fingers; a layered hailstone has fallen from Thy palm to mine. O Father! I prophesy the autumn; Father, I prophesy a dessicated leaf, a leaf, lightly born on the wind, will fall upon the house of wickedness and demolish the roof according to Thy word. © 1996 Boris Khersonsky. All rights reserved. Translation by Ruth Kreuzer and Dale Hobson.