Nothing in the world is closer
but those to whom we deny our words
love, certain infirmities, the purest presence
hear what the woman dressed in sunlight says
when she walks on top of the trees
"how far away from common speech did you leave
your heart?"

the desperate height of the blueness
in your teenage photo hundreds of years ago
the disappearance of lilies from the public garden
the sea of this bay in ruins or if you prefer
the supermarket bags expanding in the drawer
the conversations from our school days
still recited in the family
the fatigue of Sunday's run through the woods
the dry-cleaning stubs with a "don't forget" attached
the terror we have
of certain chance meetings
because we've stopped knowing basic things
about others
their very names

hear what the woman dressed in sunlight says
when she walks on top of the trees
"how far away from common speech did you leave
your heart?"

Translation: 2006, Richard Zenith