(Poland,1989)
Grey clouds in early May,
a hint or threat of rain.
Beyond the tracks a lane,
a bench along the way.
Night watchmen, empty tins
of bargain lager, stars
in smoke, East German cars
with soot on their tail fins.
A little further on—
unheard of graves, hedgerows,
and flocks of hooded crows
delighting in the dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem