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Translated by way of Barbara Mann

Now that demise creeps throughout
and the pecans are bursting their shells,
I conceal inside of Hebrew.
Not anything will befall me in blameless writing.
Not anything will befall me
if I’m absorbed into the letters,
if I don’t cross out of doors the road—
contracted to a small dot
filled inside of an O
or into the stomach of a C,
a semicolon dripping tears
like a captive.

Cherished holy tongue,
now that the entirety is in its personal time
and the entirety now could be horror,
when the orchard stretches out
and the earth is plowed,
I do simplest what Rilke says:
let attractiveness and terror occur to me
with out considering
that that is my finish.

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