just palace the arch of triumphs
we half-plucked roosters deplumed hobos
marching victoriously aptly
sing coarsely much like our supply wagons
glory to our generals and to our grooms be glory
thank God we have passed through lands and hells
there beats our banner torn into bootstraps
a hundred fortresses taken
with vigor that stayed on us
like a thirsty spell
peace like myrrh print newspapers
all wars are finished
no more cannons gleaming
and from the arks of balconies
grisettes gnarl at this burnt-faced military
this is us having marched through fields and battles
we have brought our bullets songs knapsacks
we’ve been painted with sabers so you can almost
see through one wound
to the next
to the next
this is us camping out in the middle of paris
islands swim down the river the versailles waltzes
the war is finished wine comes in uncounted barrels
a maple leaf spins little in the seine’s water
we carry our memories like our trumpets
we shall cross again seven lands
and wash ourselves clean
will we ever come back
the capital of our wonting
kolomya pysanka kolomya our city