And the thrush blew its song on the bones of the dead.
We stood under a tree and felt time sinking and sinking.
The churchyard and the schoolyard met and widened into each other
like two streams in the sea.
The ringing of the church-bells rose to the four winds borne by
the gentle leverage of gliders.
It left behind a mightier silence on earth
and a tree's calm steps, a tree's calm steps.
Translated by Robin Fulton
From Second Aeon, final issue, 1974