It is all borrowed paraphernalia here,
A desolate arrangement
For the incomplete. Guile,
Weariness, and Falsehood, the three graces
In an unheard-of situation,
Are of little help. And who really knows
What they might yield? Death
Is so versatile.
If you are looking for something
Beyond the reach of art,
You have come to the wrong place.
Hope,
That thing with feathers,
Is of little use
From a perspective such as this.
To be two with nature,
Let me assure you,
Is not always easy.
So do not turn away
From these props,
Because behind them
Is nothing,
Behind you
Is nothing,
And nothing
Lies behind.
Please be good enough
Not to forget this.

English translation by Jenny Jochens