Some gaze into tender faces,

Others drink until morning light,

But all night I hold conversations

With my conscience who is always right.

I say to her: “You know how tired I am,

Bearing your heavy burden, many years.”

But for her, there is no such thing as time,

And for her, space also disappears.

And again, a black Shrove Tuesday,

The sinister park, the unhurried ring

Of hooves, and, flying down the heavenly

Slopes, full of happiness and joy, the wind.

And above me, double-horned and calm

Is the witness … O I shall go there,

Along the ancient well-worn track,

To the deathly waters, where the swans are.