Co-translator: Antony Dunn

              Others can not see
the blank airspace of crows higher than the hill
the park convulsing its green  convulsing
the womb-wall muscle  giving birth
to spring cried out by the petals in their expanse
  The map of your palm holds all of the stories
weaves slantwise into this street  says nothing
but has changed  the combination lock of the trees
spins back one past year  and spins again
and all the birdsong crushed to death flips back into the branches
water indulges its own fantasies  the loneliness of all things
nailed by a hook in human form
  Others can not see  under the hammering sun
you walk unknowing into this afternoon
following a guidebook of darkness