I lean on a wall
still hot
from the long fire,
nowhere a villager,
nowhere a villain,
the ground gives way,
the universe sways
stars perish.
There is a surge, suddenly,
of the scent of violets.
I begin to hear
gentle voices:
grass rising
for new footsteps,
ashes cohering
to a new strength.

A spring gushes into
its stone trough,
a cat returns
to its scorched doorstone.
I grow more and more,
become a giant,
now I see over
the horror’s shoulders.

Translated by Michael Biggins

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