trees bursting buds, what an april.
what a meagre blessing, chestnut
buds on the chrome of cars, what
a meagre rain, forsythias yellow
exploding, what an eruption of leaves,
what for -

bushes. mourning eyes. on
shoots, which starting. which don't.
rain as it falls. as
through strange woods I
walked with the strange white
flowers, the too-small feet:
ankle-deep a glance that's
missing

girl-height, a
cut. forsythia at chest
level, fringe skipping
on forehead - tuft
of hair snipped as I think of you
as now, back there,
waving, father, in your bark,
approaching green.

forsythias, yellow exploding, still leafless,
their dicing, at the edge of the woods that tilts.
yellow matches, that's all.
touchpad forehead. clicks on the gaps
in the woods. 'you don't exist
for me any more,' you said.
dust on the chrome of cars. rain. my
feet in shoes that are rubbing my ankles.
trees bursting buds. nothing comes back.

Translated by Catherine Hales