(cont.d)The sun has set. A slight chill
descends. The gentle touch of mi-
nute death now grazes my flanks.
It’s my time to go home.
There, for the hearth, two bundles of twigs...
In my poverty I’ve saved
oil for my lamp ─ left at
the bottom of the jar. For night.
Perhaps the last.
So be it.
(Translated by Justin Vitiello)