114
You fell on me -- the weight of crashing boulders;
No, not the boulders -- but the weightless torture of the fog;
No, not the fog -- but the inflaming smolder;
No, not the smolder -- but the cold tranquility of snow;
No, not the snow -- the war with its explosions;
No, not the war erasing eyes with soot and throat with smoke --
Yes, not the fog which lost the weight of boulders;
Yes, not the boulders which are lost within the cunning fog;
Yes, not the snow which quenched the thirst of smolder,
Yes, not the smolder which will boil the quietude of the snow --
Through all my deeds and days you fell upon me,
Befell -- uniting all my warring pieces in one whole.
|