Hardly the blink of an eye:
the spring
your spring -

Let us give you credit:
you sought conversation
with trees, grass, stones
— the suspicion of animals intimidates you
you posed questions, but,
with habitual impatience,
did not wait for answers;
willingly you were distracted
by the singing electric wires
high above you on tall poles.

Your goal: to reach the water tower
beyond the silently resonating canyon.
Having hardly focussed on it,
you immediately let it out of your sight;
despondent as usual,
you settled for the land without paths.
You took notice of
the fountains in front of farmsteads,
and not before your tongue was rustling,
your brittle eyelids strained.

You had no eyes
for the blooming of genista on chalkland,
so impatiently awaited,
no ear
for the racket of birds
in the rows of weather slanted olive trees,
no nose
for the smoke of burning weeds,
suddenly welling up
over newly hoed gardens —

Apathetically as ever,
you stand in the middle of summer,
the summer of others.

Translated by David Chorlton
From: Hardly the Blink of an Eye. Edited by David Chorlton