drive alone

Notes on a Loose Piece of Paper

Remember to call home before too long.
To see the long reeds when they are in motion.
Not to punish myself as much as that again.
To miss the last train and wait for the next.

To wash off your injured hands in the creek.
Know there is no happiness without sadness.
Feel the glass caress of morning in the kiss.
Accept what the Devil offers once in a while.

Perhaps everything can in fact change.
Perhaps there's any road at all somewhere.

Remember to tell what blocks you at every turn.
Not to speak while watching the cormorants.
Hold out a hand to the doubts and the fears.
Drive along alone without orientation.

From Meanwhile Take My Hand by Kirmen Uribe, translated by Elizabeth Macklin. Translation copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Macklin.