[I can still make you out]

I can still make you out

through the glass fragment of days,

but as if the candle were being taken away

and the radiance dimming, dimming.

I still see the dazzle, as of wingbeat or eyelid,

and the motley dark.

I remember that gasping fright

at your name.

But there, behind the dream’s heavy drapes,

behind the window’s sash,

where earlier there’d been bustle, a running about,

a rustle and in general much commotion,

there was now silence

and a void. The drift

of clock hands stopped, ended.

Light snow falls indifferently

from void into void.

Translated by Daniel Weissbort