^{Sidabro lakiūtė,}

                      ^Sidabro.

1.

As if one is invited,

one is called

as if the vectors of windrows 

point north

and the thoughts of the earth awaken

so that you know 

what actions to take.

A thread freezes and breaks in the cold –

the stalk of a nascent moon.

2.

I am tired 

of holding my tongue,

everything must be said,

quickly,

while the seed is sown –

magic words

enchant the earth

and you can’t

prevent life

as your palms enclose roots

lifting everything 

up

until I am cleansed by my own abnegation

until fear-filled eyes put me to the test.

3.

Protect us from the rain

that promises more

than we need,

give us enough mouths

if you set the harvest upon us

through the fields

I know you are my mother,

that my legs are stuck in you

for ages,

and to break away 

promises only

another turning towards you

I know that we love you

not just for 

your ear for our prayers,

your gift of the harvest,

but how you don’t hesitate to feed

the mouth that disrespects you,

that fails to understand

the what and from where

of life –

your unconditionality 

is the most perfect form of truth.

Let there be heaven for us

through rain.

4.

In the cold, thread freezes and breaks –

the cord connecting the earth

with the pink moon of morning –

a shield 

protecting us –

born naked

every evening.