In the morning on my walk to the post office
the cloud veiled winter sky is a large engraved windowpane
a cluster of golden daffodils burn behind in bright frigid flames
Echo your name is a pair of fine new shoes
each morning I set out on a journey of joyous pain
On my way back snow white envelope in my pocket
the cloud veiled winter sky has a strange glimmer
across a large glistening windowpane I see
a cluster of golden daffodils burn on an icy bed of nails
Echo my calls shall never echo back
because you do not know you do not know
The boiling frigid air is a phantasmic labyrinth
with every step I crush a boîte of brand-new mistakes
Echo your eyes are a semi-transparent mirror
as I turn I see myself walking clothed in my own folly
I am walking on my own skull
1963 (Translated 2020)