THREE POEMS

Solzhenitsyn Playing Tennis He steps to his practicedforehand. He laughsas he hits the ball. Freedomfrom necessityfills his aura and dimsas the game comesto a close. His bodyguardsscan the sky, the tree,the roof. A walkalong the river, they ask him.Da, he says. They walk amidstwinding cameras.He steps over the railsand descends intobrush. A trail opens.Solzhenitsyn saysIn the January issueof Nature, 1869,there is an interrogativeconcerning “MusicalNotes from Outflowof Water.” I hearan E, he says, but my earis not tuned so well.Will someone heretune my ear? Laughter.They stop and slowtheir perceptionover the water,the drag of sunlighton the gossamerkairotic robed stones,and fall quietuntil the quietbecomes a dirty stanza.Then with the dartof a well-struckserve, Solzhenitsynsays, I’m thirsty.He squats forward,cups some water,drinks. Acrossthe water, a vixenasleep nearthe entranceof her den, liftsher head. Sheknows better,but when shereceives the…