It’s boring looking at the same old contents
Of my very own vocabulary
(Like “way out” on a trolleybus window)
While experiencing hopelessness and angst,
An urge to precipitate self through
Same, though that’s the way one has just clambered in.
And now it’s closed; one might say too tightly.
But turning it sideways I can squeeze the
Reflection, my vocabulary’s own, through
To drop into the postbox of life—here!
Translated by Robert Reid