We speak a different language, you and I.
The script may be the same,
but the words are strange.
You and I
live on different
islands, even though
we are in the same apartment.


Whose are the eyes I look through at the world
of friends and family, of trees and birds?
Whose are the lips I use to catch the dew
from a leaf that has fallen in the street?

Whose are the arms I use to hug
this helpless and precarious world?
I lose my own voice in those of forests,
fields and blizzards, heavy rain and night.

But who am I?
Where should I look for myself?
How can I answer
all these natural voices?

Fourteen Teardrops

Fourteen teardrops
are on your cheek.
Fourteen raindrops
on the wet glass.
Guess, you will not come–
guess or not
You will turn to the door,
Farewell, my expectations,
our hands cannot be parted.
I do not like parting,
the circle of worry.
And there will be pain after the meeting,
which is destined not to happen.
Fourteen teardrops
you should not forget.