AND AFTER THE PASSING OF TIME

In this place they make small gardens bloom,
cultivate all kinds of fragrances, never stray at night.
Chance is not a cause of sorrow, and underground,
the short-lived, too, turns into a constant, time
that has passed, that is passing.

Except sometimes, Sue, when evening
over the tiny gardens, on
cropped mounds of grass,
I see again, in fragments,
the sum of your entire face: how
mouth and eyes were placed in it,
how hair on top, how palms.

When evening comes, the light is lit
inside the house. The moon is in its place. The year
in its routine circuit.
All that's required of you, Sue,
is to be born again as an animal.  

ולאחר זמן שעבר

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