Elizabeth Burns

Last


Late summer, and the last of daylight
grows more precious: it’s as if by gazing at the sky
you could somehow bear the sunset’s weight,
keep back the dark that comes so quickly
 

and, scattering the ashes in the field at dusk
you don’t look down at the earth where they fall
but keep your eyes fixed on the sky,
the last of the light, its yellow so pale.

Ioana Tudor

Elizabeth Burns
 

Sfarsit


Vara tarzie, si ultimele sclipiri de lumina
devin mai pretioase: e ca si cum uitandu-te spre cer
ai putea cumva sa sustii greutatea asfintitului,
sa tii departe intunericul ce vine cu atata repeziciune


si, imprastiind cenusa peste campul in asfintit,
nu privesti in jos la pamantul peste care pica,
ci iti mentii privirea pironita pe cer,
ce a mai ramas din lumina, galbenul ei atat de palid.