Bones that in the night
Shine
But not only on nights
Of moon light, even when
The moon behind the clouds
Frowning and huddled in the frozen skies
Hides.
And the swans in the lakes where
Are they?
No longer their chants or songs of
Nightingales.
But only
Impulsive gusts of wind blowing
Blowing random and discretional
This night
When the bones shine irrespective of the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem