Summer Still
I move through the snow, with closed eyes,
And yet the light knows how to pass
Through porous eyelids, and I see
That in my words there is also snow,
Swirling, massing, drifting apart.
Snow,
A letter one comes across, unfolds,
And the ink has faded, and over the signs
The clumsiness of mind is plain to see,
For merely confusing their lucid shadows.
And one tries to read, but one cannot make out
Who it is in memory that gives heed to us,
Except that summer is here still,
And that one sees
Under the flakes, the leaves, and warmth
Rising like mist from the hidden ground.
Translated by Michael Edwards
Page(s) 16
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