Into Solitude

We descend into solitude step by step

further and further down stanzas of verses

into depths never expected

determined to live without poor substitutes

in a cruel and impossible purity

there at the very bottom to regain

all those who huddle

at the gate of this wide-open emptiness

grandmothers aunts and uncles already forgotten

strangers who once crossed a courtyard

someone out of work who knocked on the window

someone passed by on a footbridge

the dead the living it doesn’t matter

the beautiful boy who stood below the pulpit

looking like an angel almost an angel

and the one who hit me on the forehead with a stone

where a mark still remains

and the washerwoman who reappeared at our home like Kronos

and went away bent under the weight of the laundry basket

the wagon-driver with whom I danced at the harvest festival

and Someone else was there a carpenter or a woodworker

who placed a hand on my forehead

and said Don’t be afraid

with me no one is lonely