Had I known that I was beginning at the end
and the playful yellow
of the trees
was
nothing
but
frivolous
au tumn;
had I known,
had it been possible for me to know,
would I be here now, with this child
who carries an orange to the window
and returns
with snow
on
his fingers?

Had I known,
had there been any hope of my knowing,
would I have arrived, and changed my clothes, and lain down among the leaves…
to die and be buried in your breast
rather than ascending from the window
and soaring out
into
the night
air?

Translated by Seema Atalla