a bright night, warm and gentle as the insides of your thighs,
you will sleep through that morning, wake in the day, wait half
the sleepy night with me, outside the window snows will blow as
they blew, in gusts, outside the window cold hands of cold touch
the apple trees' white skin, the half-empty garden stretches across
the expansive noticeable expanse, dry the white scrubbed linen
sheets of your dead mother, heavy and slow, their flowered dresses,
rarely dreamed of, rustle
dearest, my dearest, you give me a gift of me, feeble and dirt free

Translated by Jonas Zdanys