How life
begins and ends
(perhaps by chance?)
the luminous track
the wake that leaves
behind all
that was loved
or unloved
or at least unknown
joy or strife:
all is cast into
the blind vase
in the arms of darkness.
And yet meanwhile
the faded trace
of all things
flourishes anew.
The shadow and the smell
lees than the colour
the evocation
of the rose.

Translated by Boris Peters