Landscape
In the twisted branch wind moves, ancient fervours.
It fixes its lines of passage here –
weathervanes of incident rejoicing of air.From the landscape that opens in the window –
tight against the window –
the hill breaks up its line among the leaves
and the branches sink in the grey of afternoon.In the dying smoke that turns to night
they continue their movement.Their life beats softly
retreating
in the quiet of the valley that loses them.
Translated by Jane Durran
Page(s) 253
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