If you smell iodine, the captain is nearby.

The pines support heaven upon their needles.

An aquamarine July strolls along the seashore,

Its ever-returning feet massaged by pebbles.

You dilute the climate with tears. Carving melons

Smells of vacation ... just as the inevitable captain.

Hello! I know this well: summer has come. Henceforth,

It will knock at my threshold. I will prepare. I change

Unnecessarily so many times each day. The soul

Immaculate gasps when you bring her to the glassy sea.

When summer ends, I will spill iodine. Let it smell,

To make the captain believe his sea is my flat.

--Lyudmyla Diadchenko (trans. Padma Thornlyre)