In a Warm Bed (An Alba)
In a warm bed, the minute just before dawn.
A blackbird has woken up and is tracing
a figure eight outside the window. Below
the sound again of unknown hoodlums breaking
a car mirror, compact fragments of the sky
and city lying there. Only the blackbird
sounds the alarm. In a minute, we must rise
and put on for the world some sort of disguise.
But not just yet. In a minute, dawn will show
to slash the window curtains with its sharp sword
and catch us, warm, in flagrante delicto.
In just a minute. As yet the world is shard
by shard still affixing faces – so and so
in a broken mirror. Variants grow hard
and harder, solidify, the world recast
wavers a bit before putting on the last.
(Translated by Mira Rosenthal)