translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
The wind is knocking at the door shaking glass and window sill. Let me open it to try keeping that wild wind still. Oh, fine. The wind is inside now mixing papers, letters, lists with my poems on the desk stirring them hand over fist. Well. Let them blow away. All blow, outside the door, all mismatched and mis-marked perhaps to be seen no more. Okay, as long as work itself survives. Okay, as long as a tomorrow arrives.