This late summer, and the melody of song protracted,
Like soothing words or victory after struggle,
A planned assault or the delusions of Penelope,
Wherein distant perspectives are awash with birds,
And a military Grasshopper
Disappears into the sky and fades to unconsciousness,
A coffee’s warm vapour drifts from one of the tables,
And a white rose exhales its fragrance.
You are entitled to all of this,
The wind subdued by the tree’s dark tree crown
Forms melodies of yellow leaves,
Extracted from a box, whether for an undefined period,
A short August vacation abroad.
The engine hums through broken passages of summer,
Where the wind cradles birds’ nests in tree crowns,
Giving you the possibility to whisper: this is an augury
Or the comprehension of an image and the end point of flight
Which remains dark and immutable in any season.
The negative of a plane bombing a foreign location.
Through all horizons, without exception, and in all perspectives,
The low sky you encompass in a glance continues
With a plane at a high altitude, and there is no possibility
Of analysing life’s boundlessness in dreams.
So you watch birds through binoculars,
Their wings sculling through blue sky,
Anticipating autumn’s coldness
As they fly towards the southern coast.
Translated by Steve Komarnyckyj
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