Poem 16 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

Have we mistaken
On this bench
under these pine trees you were sitting
wasn't it you waving your hand
and cinder of sorrow was pouring from your hums

Are we mistaken
that you too one day have seen this house, street, bakery, market
But why did you turn into a candle mass
on the wooden bench, under the trees
and above your head, from the strands of your hair
a silver smoke is raised

July 2009