inverno

©Walter Neiger

Winter, to me your gestures are

cold and careful: yes, in

winter there is something

gentle as medicine,

or why else would sickness

put out trusting hands

into that season, from its own

torture and darkness?

Weave your magic then

my love, let the kiss

of one curl of ice

brush over my forehead.

Soon I shall trust any

deception, and look without fear

into the eyes of dogs, as I

press close to the trees:

And forgive, playfully, with a

run, turn and jump; and

after a bout of forgiveness

forgive again,

become like a winter’s day:

empty and oval, though

in comparison to such

presence, always small.

I shall turn to nothing, and

so call over the wall,

not some shadow of myself, but light

I shall not block at all.

Bella Akhmadulina  (1937 - 2010)

tradução:  Elaine Feinstein