***

There is much—I know—sadness

and the unavoidable ahead. Namely:

fear, illness, death, the cicada’s song

in my own abandoned home, involuntary betrayals,

and awakenings, and the lure of stars . . .

O heart, that from behind ribs, like from behind gratings,

gazes into this mad game,

why did you find your way to me,

to be tormented in this tedious body,

so that once again I would bend over the river,

and my face would fall and disappear beyond the water,

and so that I would sob in mute despair . . .

Translated by Michael M. Naydan