Hold my hand
Not to carry me far away . . . no
My roots and branches
Will strain for distant clouds

Maybe my eyes
Are in that same pavilion of loneliness now
Let my face again be the statue of sadness

When you beautify me
Maybe
I’m a pale blue woman now

translated by George Messo

Touched-leaves still on the floor
It danced with wind
Swayed in her bloody shawl
Wind cut dead
And the dance half done
In coarse, dark rasping pain
The poppy sheds its leaves

translated by George Messo