AGAIN SOMEONE SOMEWHERE IS SPEAKING
about the generation of the sixties,
the seventies, or the eighties.
But I don't like sadism or masochism;
I don't consider the old wiser than the young
or the young wiser than the old;
my ancestor, too, was Utnapishtim
who lives on Dilmun island, with its fountain of youth;
my children piss in their pants and play in the sandbox;
my brother is the northwest wind in the branches of the willow;
my sister is the sunlight edging a white cloud;
I myself am a blind stone frog in an empty room,
with a scar on my knee from the time
I fell from my bike on a highway near Kärevere,
when bottoms were still flooded and in the forests of Tiksoja
violets bloomed and on the banks of the ditches and in thickets
there were still patches of snow.