Whenever I go there everything is… The stamps on the bandages the tit… Of the professors of water The portrait of Glare the reasons… The white mourning

There in the fringe of trees betwe… the upper field and the edge of th… below it that runs above the valle… one time I heard in the early days of summer the clear ringing

A child looking at ruins grows you… but cold and wants to wake to a new name I have been younger in October than in all the months of spring

It is March and black dust falls… Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here ha… Left already On the avenues the colorless threa…

Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with…

This is a place on the way after t… can no longer be kept straight her… of the barn a mound of wheels has… raveling courses to stop in a sing… and lie down as still as the chari…

The friends have gone home far up… of that river into whose estuary the man from England sailed in his… in time to catch sight of the late… furring in black the remotest edge…

I gave you sorrow to hang on your… Like a calendar in one color. I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn’t as simple as that. Between no place of mine and no pl…

When you go away the wind clicks a… The painters work all day but at s… Showing the black walls The clock goes back to striking th… That has no place in the years

Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound. This way the dust, that way the du…

In the evening all the hours that weren’t used are emptied out and the beggars are waiting to gat… to open them

Out of the dry days through the dusty leaves far across the valley those few notes never heard here before

In a dream I returned to the rive… Five orange trees by the bridge an… Beside two mills my house Into whose courtyard a blind man f… The goats and stood singing

With what stillness at last you appear in the valley your first sunlight reaching down to touch the tips of a few high leaves that do not stir

Thinking of rain clouds that rose… on the first day of the year in the same month I consider that I have lived dail… eyes open and ears to hear