In a place with soil fertile and soft,
You can let the grass catch your head,
The fox kiss your nose,
While you sink your teeth into red mulberries decorating the ground.
Some here are buried,
And some are just sleeping,
Moss become blankets and fungi pills,
And the only colors I see are amber and olive.
No doves fly or cry,
And I watch the world through tangled brambles,
Briars scrape my knees,
And I am all alone.
You forgot this place,
You forgot it yesterday,
You forgot the smell of pine and fern,
You forgot the taste of figs bleeding milk.
I’m sorry your alone,
I’m sorry I wasn’t there,
I bathed in a crystal lake,
And returned with no one beside me.
Where are you?
Who have you become?
A sheep for the slaughter who drank the fat of calves,
And one by one burned branches.
Goodbye, the swallow croaks,
While the fox hides in its nest,
I watch you through briars,
And hide away in yesterday.