of worry in words far from which
we keep the bees so that they
are not carried to the deepest corner
of the maps the dreams are already reached

regions where fear does not speak its name
but is present we fix the gaze on bare
land margins drunkblack are the days as announcement

leaving the world behind illegible a map in the beginning
was no word the nag once again sad will not
be steered only his silver in view and how he leaves you

there are no stories when a country fades
how you hurry here whom we can no longer find
nowhere and where in this land lived

not bitterness quiet now.

Translated by Anne Posten