The day declines, and the tree
set in its shadows
thins the already slender layer of blue.

If now I raise my eyes
and am watchful, like those wounded who hesitate
at the portal of the stars, if I raise my eyes
perhaps I will approach
this fate, - a gentle ascent
into desolate space.

And the wind, again the wind
on the neglected stone, which lingers.
Soon it will fall, into the disorder of other stones.

Ruins, ruins, scattered throughout history,
- complex geometry of a world
plunged into the painful joy of time.

Would I be able to throw myself
into myself as if down a well, without a net,
consent to the shadow that gestures
toward other lights?

translated by by Karen Solie