tree

translated by PLS

a tree from the heart

on a chair under the moon

listening to the sound of the night and the autumn

a groan newly formed fruits cannot grasp

this tree never wears shoes, nor stores memories

so it has thick soles, is the rock of time

closer, she said, closer still

you can talk to me —

let the scattered words flow like a river

no one would cry or run for a tree

because solitude of the tree is lighter than silence

I extended my hand to feel the creases on her body

as if touching a forest in the mist

but she insisted —

in all colors and dark clouds

those of the tree belong to the tree

and the forest to the forest

I started stomping

making a flat yet hurried noise in sleep

I wanted to say that if one day

thieves of history stole all of her fruits

I would remember each one of them

keep them huddled in the dark night

she left anyway

not so far, nor so close

leaving me with the whole forest

accepting and becoming accustomed to the idea of forgetting

forget about the crossroads at the end of the sea

the sharpness

the ins and outs of time

the sadness beyond the window

after she’s gone, I saw four seasons stretching themselves in the distance

seeing myself, also in these seasons