I have composed a mortal secret
To live sometimes secretly in another country
Peeling off garlic and boiling coffee in somebody else’s kitchen
Walking to the monastery lighting up a candle
In the backyard a congregation of birches converse in silent tongues
The face splits up in a mirror
Round and sad it veils itself with golden chanting
 
Come night I leave my body, my fingers, I peel off bark
In the cold dorm the wind covers us with its long beard
Come morning I am a young tree planted in front of the house
A naked bone giving birth to daylight