CONFESSION
Pelting rain is pounding
against my windowsill
one more time.
Through its drops, the green chestnut tree
is laughing merrily.
The love between them is more immense
than these two.
A white Baltic herring-gull glides
across the sky.
Night, I want you to fall down on your knees
before me,
like this lashing powerful rain.
I would like to whisper
those words in the mystery
of the primeval forest,
the words I had never pronounced.
If out of the blue it stops raining
and the wings of a bird cross the rainbow,
a swarm of bees will hum in the night sky
driving away the wind that has robbed the words –
the ones I had never pronounced.