You can read the introductory part here.


Icelight melts, but the warmth

Doesn’t warm, just more

Darkwater in the lake. The shores

Are words, the telephones

Dead devices flickering

On and off like candles

In cemeteries.


Awoken, exhausted by the run

Through the night that is not yet

Over. The standby light

Takes the place of the star. From no

Where you look at me, from no

Where you come. The lilacs bloom,

The birds fly up, as if

They were following the promises

That kept themselves in sleep.


Mourning is madness. I

Turn on the recorder

And listen to the snoring

Of the dead. Heavy breath,

Recorded on April first.

It was warm island air.

The tides still had no

History, the springtime blossomed

Into the future. The

Returning rattle

Now makes my own heart

Race. No solace.


No joy in the company

Of trees that change their

Colours. In my hand a

Single maple leaf, I watch the

Women carrying candles,

Rummaging in their pockets for lighters.

Death wears green, he knows

No times, just you and

Me in the grass. And tries out

Spring in the dark.


Half a home, half a

Room, half a life:

Unalleviated love. Where’s this hand

Supposed to go, why are the curtains holding


Translated by Geoffrey C. Howes