drawing by petersilie

Larissa Miller's
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Quench My Sadness

Quench my sadness.
At sunset and at dawn
the wind rocked the pines
on Nickola Mountain.

The pines creak a little
and the trunks sway.
Times that are light-bearing
will become a handful of ashes.

I speak and cry softly:
because whatever I say
everything is a complete failure
and banality.

Only in the beginning was the Word,
then there were only words.
Quench my sadness
and make me akin to the Word.


Translated by Richard McKane