This will be a night in deep snow

which has the power to muffle steps

in deep shadow transforming

bodies to two puddles of darkness

we lie holding our breath

and even the slightest whisper of thought

if we are not tracked down by wolves

and the man in a Russian sheepskin who swings

quick-firing death on his chest

we must spring and run

in the clapping of short dry salvos

to that other longed-for shore

the earth is the same everywhere

wisdom teaches everywhere the man

weeps with white tears

mothers rock their children

the moon rises

and builds a white house for us

this will be night after hard reality

a conspiracy of the imagination

it has a taste of bread and lightness of vodka

but the choice to remain here

is confirmed by every dream about palm trees

the dream is interrupted suddenly by the arrival of three

tall men of rubber and iron

they will check your name your fear

order you to go downstairs

they won’t allow you to take anything

but the compassionate face of the janitor

Hellenic Roman Medieval

East Indian Elizabethan Italian

perhaps above all French

a bit of Weimar and Versailles

we carry so many homelands

on the shoulders of a single earth

but the only one guarded

by the most singular number

is here where they will trample you into the ground

or with boldly ringing spade

make a large pit for your longing