Epistle on a Leaf - Mihai Ursachi
We shall live in the middle of a leaf, my love,
the green serenity in the middle of a leaf.
Lightning-swift our life will be, our awareness
of the all and the anything; the comforting
remembrance of those
who never were. We shall remember
a hill, a hill we loved so much,
the well filling from deep in its heart;
and the twilight through which,
flung helter-skelter about its skirt, the slum
appeared the neglected toy of an infant god . . .
What crazy words I used to speak, oh, I wanted
to be sure that we existed, that truly we are: that here,
here is a tree, or a pillar, and we’re standing beside it, alive.
That this, in your hand, is the leaf
on which we were destined to live. On which we remember
we once lived in great peace,
serene with deep knowledge. No, we weren’t mistaken,
we didn’t tell lies: this is the hill, beside the well
is a tree, among its leaves
is a leaf. I tell you again,
surely we lived on this very leaf
where you are reading now, if it please you.
