Do not carry your remembrance.
Leave it, alone, in my breast,
tremor of a white cherry tree
in the torment of January.
There divides me from the dead
a wall of difficult dreams.
I give the pain of a fresh lily
for a heart of chalk.
All night long, in the orchard
my eyes, like two dogs.
All night long, quinces
of poison, flowing.
Sometimes the wind
is a tulip of fear,
a sick tulip,
daybreak of winter.
A wall of difficult dreams
divides me from the dead.