Vision of the burial of my illusions
in the very grave of mortal wound.
Veronican charity of unknown places
where at the price of ether life is lost.

    Near dawn I will part in tears;
and while my years go curving away, 
my swift route will curve scythes.

    And before cold oils of a dying moon,
with clangour of steel in the indolent earth,
dogs will dig up, howling, a goodbye! 
 
 
 

Translated by Michael Smith and Valentino Gianuzzi