An uncoincidence, a noncoincidence.
Oh, how broad are the earth’s estates,
oh, how unthinkable is grace here.
How unobtrusive is God’s care,
how many reasons to sob inconsolably.
You thirst for communication—the time is mute.
You thirst for flight—unflyable weather.
You thirst for an answer—a blind wall,
stagnant water, swampy duckweed
and someone’s cold back.
What’s left then? To resign and to pine,
to comprehend too late, to repent with a delay . . .
the eternal gap between then and now . . .
Someone rushes to a house that’s been moved away,
searches desperately for the old door.
Copyright Larissa Miller. Translation copyright 2011 by Richard McKane. All rights reserved.
