"Every day I rise from sleep again
as if for the last time.
I donít know what awaits me,
perhaps it follows logically, then,
that nothing awaits me.
The spring on its way
is like the spring gone by.
I know about the month of May
but pay it no mind.
For me thereís no border between night and day,
just that night is colder
though silence is equal to them both.
At dawn I hear the voices of birds.
I fall asleep easily
out of affection for them.
The one who is dear to me is not here,
perhaps he simply is not.
I cross over from day to night
from day to day
like a feather
the bird doesnít feel as it falls away."