Pine Trees and the Sea, by Leonid Pasternak
His gaze, forever blocked by bars,
is so exhausted it takes in nothing else.
All that exists for him are a thousand bars.
Beyond the thousand bars, no world.
The strong, supple pacing
moves in narrowing circles.
It is a dance at whose center
a great will is imprisoned.
Now and again the veil over his pupils
silently lifts. An image enters,
pierces the numbness,
and dies away in his heart.