A Land Not Mine A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pine trees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again. by Anna Akmatova (1889-1966) (translated by Jane Kenyon in Bly, News of the Universe,U p.168)