ENTRANCE

Whoever you are: in the evening step

out of your room, where you know everything;

yours is the last house before the distant:

whoever you are.

With your eyes, which wearily

just free themselves of the worn-out threshold,

very slowly you raise one black tree

and set it against the sky: slender, alone.

And you’ve made the world. And it’s immense

and like a word ripening in silence.

And as your will reaches for its meaning,

tenderly your eyes let it go …