Night and Rain

Night and Rain

Night and rain. All the animals

are asleep in their cages,

only the nimble squirrel

leaps from branch to branch.

Empty all the benches and booths,

all the paths — wet;

homeless from the street come

seeking shelter.

One sits on a bench

and water pours from his face,

his hands — they have just

rummaged in the garbage.

His eyes look somewhere

as through bars, dead:

and from his chest onto the grass

falls a piece of bread.

Night of mourning. From the trees

falls a dust of rain,

and from sleep with violence suddenly

the body gives a leap.

As in a Dream

I walk in the middle of the night,

turn among the walls —

I don't seek and I don't think,

don't want to regret anything.

Streets in and streets out,

how many, which kind doesn't matter —

I don't go to anyone's house,

no one expects me either.

Here — a gate, here — a threshold.

Further, further I walk,

all around my own self,

as in a dream I turn.