Night Witch (to Zhenya Rudneva)

This is what I live for:

I graze the frostbitten stars
With outstretched fingers
                                          and wingtips,
Cutting through the dark
                       with softly circling blades.

I am born again
From a plywood womb,
Dusting fields below
                        with my twin charges
                                 that sweep
                                        downwards:

                       A night witch's curse.

Then home to refuel.
And I talk to Betelguese
           and to Sirius
Who mirror the explosions below.

I tell them of the scalding freeze
                                         on my skin
From the whistling wind.
I tell them of comrades lost,
                      comets spiralling from
                      heaven to hell.
I tell them that I am like them:

                         Radiant.

Night Witch (to Zhenya Rudneva)

And one black night
I too
          spiral
                   Hell-ward
                                    in
                                        a plywood
                                                         tomb.