if someone lays apples
at my feet I become an
imminent deity

there's a link between
the moans in the room next door
and the three Portuguese women

who can see with their noses
pressed to the glass that it's raining
as we sleep

breathing slowly at
the window that carries the light
inside to us

and the progress of the seasons
follows every scream
predicts

one day I'll have added something
to the world

Translation: Michele Hutchinson