In the storm soon to come
the road will become impassable

barriers close behind us
fog lights dim ahead

a small skylight on the left
level with the dike

the figure that sits there
taps the table with a thimble

the child tosses in its sleep
the television is on with no sound

the corner of the fire escape
in the back window

she puts the paper in the basket
holding on to the chair back

counts the tiles to the mat
the cork strip against the doorpost

sings under her breath
falls, makes a hole in the snow.

Translated by Paul Vincent