The earth sings the chronicles of our lives.
In this land days walk among us
like spies. Night puddles
where the rain is absorbed in firefly glimmers.
The wind is a coop of clucking chickens.
The song of the earth feeds itself on blood sounds.
The rustling of trees, the susurration of grass like ancient lyrics.
For days I listened to the sounds of the earth
trying to decipher its language
in renewing Nature, its wintry anger
that always defeats us
even indoors.
For days I was trapped wondering what rustles
in its damp and swelling belly
when it sheds its skin like a snake
and dons new skin.
I stripped naked to the sounds of words
to recount events to myself.
Translated by Vivian Eden