The first thing you will forget
Is the voice, a form
And not a substance.
The soul
Remains a jumble,
Some errant
Experience. (Each is tortured
In his separate hell,
For we are crowded
In our solitudes — many —
But all divided
By a wall.)
Scarcely a fiftieth
Of what you take in
Will be assimilated.
The rest will vanish
Through breathing,
Evaporation,
Or some such.

Prove
That I was here.

English translation by Jenny Jochens