For Ratriot

It could be the first day, doesn’t matter,
            if the wolves are howling again and the night is creeping
            like the day round about me, round about my generation and
            the next one and the next one and the last one, until
those days no longer balance and neither documents
            nor internal moments, far beyond this life,
            realities that once were, come, go, are
symbols, lights, stars becoming visible and things,
            people have marks, creep along and
            shadows testify, witnesses are silent, say

              it’s already happened
it could be the very last day, doesn’t matter
            because the wolves are howling again and we can’t hear them.

 

trans. Mark Kanak