Continuity

Translated by Jarek Zawadzki

hose cuckoo birds black storks just like in spring
beneath the mountain tops still winter dwells
just like those cabins with lime whitening
in black and white photos in the same dells

in rings have sycamores enclosed their days
and water in the rocks has carved its flow
as if it were written that our private ways
in that direction ever jointly go

that all shall come to be but imperfections
and these events that cannot be foretold
like those untraveled future recollections
which stay ignored or in chitchat unfold
beneath the final bridge a heart-shaped rock