To one no longer young
Already you can see the tragedy,
everything in its place:
the sword and ash for Dido,
an obolus for Belisarius.
Why do you keep searching for conflict
in the hexameters’ hazy bronze
when here can be found
the seven feet of ground,
the sudden blood and open grave?
Here watching you is the unfathomable mirror
that will dream and forget the reflection
of your agonies and final years.
Already the last one hems you in.
It’s the house where you spend
your slow, brief evening
and the street you see every day.
Translated by Daniel Dockery
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