It’s around noon
the empty hours of those waking late
those on leave, or jobless ,
those with clothes once fashionable
which now look old and cheap
—showing all the signs of a consummer society—
we pass over the asphalt.

Behind me
a girl carrying sorrow in her heartbeat
the smile of a bud smashing the ice
as if left here today by a deer.

translated by George Messo