Averting dying gazes, a tarnished
Soul, I saw. Speaking names into a wisp
Of scented hemlock. He tossed it swift
Toward the earth from which I climbed, and I
Asked of him, “What was that piece which you then
Released? ” and he watched me with quiet eyes.
“A midnight bidding my grace unto the
World, ” his only words as I let him fade.
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem