I walk alone, where the moon spreads
A silvery blanket over the stubble.
There are no words, no home –
Only the sky, close as if it were mine.
The grass rustles in a dewy tear,
As if wanting to speak all at once…
But the night is silent. Its necklace –
Is the stars in the black silver of phrases.
I no longer ask for the way,
I do not summon fate in sorrow,
I carry a prayer, like a helping hand,
In the wind, in the song, in the earth.
And perhaps, there, beyond that horizon,
Where the light has not yet faded within me,
Someone with a kind heart will look,
Like the moon – bright, though sad.
Quiet Walk
18