WHO WILL HELP me starve this night
and all the nights to come?
The round moon traces a huge curve
far away from me, I am too thin for it already.
I'd very much like to drop my eyes now
like pebblestones out of my window,
so that a drunk, down in the street,
would crush them deep into the first snow.
But even blind I'd still
know about all things and always
see you leave, since sparks rise in me
like stars of hunger from crying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.