More beautiful than this is impossible, I hear you say to me,
when the piano song leaves for afar from my ears.
I too cry, don't you see, it is not only you crying,
the silvery-green rain weaves for me a dress and the unskilled sun
seams it with untrodden grass.

My fingertips are only a shadow, I don't want
to die as long as I am alive,
there is a delta for everything,
for all the crying of those who have souls,
a sunrise for the wings of thin and long water birds,
who take flight below
closer to the river's reflection of the sky.

Today I love myself
and I am lonelier than yesterday and maybe
I am in love with all the lovers in this world,
I value their full moments after they take a share of everything,
form every mirror of this world
where they see themselves,
I can't, I simply cannot breathe any longer, because I am happy.

I am fifteen years old and my name is woman or maybe willow.

my body like a bugle
I listen
to the sea ruling unsettled sand
to the sky sticking to earth like a mellow pumpkin
with all its seeds

far and away
high over this mud
gathered under the soles big as a mountain
there is my country ...
the place where I can put my finger on warm bread
on the star from the stag’s front
on the bell’s rope in the old church

from sunset towards sunrise
me too I become whiter
deep into my bones
along with this only sun
always full circle
bound to be turning around my house
as if it were the world’s beginnings