Today no one has come to question;
nor to ask of me this late afternoon.
I haven’t even seen a cemetery flower
in such a joyful procession of lights.
Forgive me, Lord: how little I have died!
On this late afternoon, they all, they all pass by
without questioning me or asking anything of me.
I don’t know what is forgotten and remains uneasily
in my hands, like some alien thing.
I have gone up to the door,
and I have the urge to shout to all of them:
If you’re missing something, it remains right here!
Because in all the late afternoons of this life,
I don’t know with what doors they close in one’s face,
and my soul is upset over something alien.
Today no one has come;
and today I have died so little this late afternoon.