But you, are you Christians?
So be it, you are Christians.
At night one could be.
So for this might
it is thought to be life,
this lateness, this aftermath . . . These bouquets of flowers
left undelivered, in one fell swoop now
felled, extinguished. So many flowers!
And yet, one could . . .

Exit, cross over, exceed, reach.

—Translated from the Italian by Jorie Graham