
you will disappear from yourself,
betraying your own self forever,
and that will be the basest dishonesty.

It's impossible to resurrect one another.
Death drags down too deep.
Death even for a moment is too long.
…

I am written on it-this I believe.
What makes one's last love terrible
is that it is not love, but fear of loss.
Poem:Don't Disappear, Yvegeny Yevtushenko, 1987, Translated by Antonina W. Bouis, Albert C. Todd and Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Pictures: my mums, transformed into gold by the late November afternoon sun