It is dark, at night by the meadow
Where nothing blooms.

When you take my hand,
I feel the wind
In my throat — it gets stuck,
With eighteen knots.

We do not go on, together
Because we don’t belong together.
The wind becomes a storm,
And when dawn breaks,
And nothing begins to bloom
In the meadow,
And no breeze blows anymore,
We greet each other from afar,
You and I.