We live in a city without a river, there are
borders here made only of wind
or rainshowers. At night
this frightens my sister, but in our house
there is no weeping, perhaps
it would help her, perhaps it would drive her
over the edge. It is frosty
in her voice. If distances could be described
without rivers, at least the ideas
would be sustainable: No one
comes near our house and we haven't
seen our parents for years.
But there is no rest, this city is
like remaindered snow in March. Only the wind,
which drives the rain into its shape,
hints at a city limit. Our house remains
locked in ice and vanished.

Translated by Donna Stonecipher