The day passes from a photograph of those shot in Bucha to a photograph of a trunk full of phones in Bucha
The day passes from ideas for a monument to Zhenya Golubentsev to the news that Vablya was liberated
The day passes from tasteless slept-on soup to sour cream
The day passes from the night shock of battering rain to a meeting postponed
The day passes in conversation with Petro Midyanka
The day passes in transition from the room of despair and resentment to the room where I am little with God
The day passes from searching for something and searching for my own voice
The day passes from threshold to threshold
The day passes from downloading a book to buying a book
The day passes from being lost in the supermarket to being lost near the bed
The day passes
The time for the funeral prayer draws near and arrives
Violetta says she heard the Angel of Death
and I believe her words
as if where there is no death, these days, there is no truth
translated by Lisa Biletska