Do I dare disturb the universe? What a question,
for one of those ancient women gathering
fuel in vacant lots. There is no returning,

only the present, with a growing burden of garnered
past. Thunder and rubies become garlic and
sapphire - mud sets, clots around your churning

in my ground. Cool springs nowhere in sight;
every voice withers like the stuttering of the nightingale
but what's been uttered remains, repeats

forever and forever differently the message
of the rabid, persisting, unquenchable
creeping fire.

Translation: John Irons