the snow will arrive like a fox in a dream
white itself and the fox white
- and a fish in grain -
- and the grain burned up in a dolphin -

the fox is not alone - for heavenly water
is glued to the bottom - with a flute and sound
- but it has reeled in the nets -
of loneliness - of words with the sugar

of what i wrote there - that my hand
sheltered from the wind - as much as possible
i opened it with the beak of a hawk
- and you close it - unable to put it back together

in any order - both the earth
and the signs say: at that age
you can bring everything in grain
- a river on a fox -

but the words just taken out of sacks
i myself: am the grain and wine-maker
- the flute of minutes -
- the ashes of an orchard -

why does the double that appears more often
in the door - deftly disappear?
- and the lines already grow smaller - and in them are
- more secrets -

and there are no explanations - who will sweep
those ashes - who is waiting
- and which wind will take you - in what will it put you
- for it is gone -

Translation: 2005, Michael M. Naydan