Winter (from three erotic poems)
I now think
disgracefully rarely
of my First Great Abandoned One
I carefully avoid
anything that might cause
a consternation of memories
—places we used to meet
—street corners
—landscapes
—benches
—benches
—trees
—the window where
our light burned
slowly but pitilessly
I forget
the color of her eyes
what
remains
now rests
in a cardboard box
photographic negatives
our faceless pictures
if someone ran a pointer finger
down the sharp edge of the frame
the heart's blood
would flow
a friend told me
that My First Great Love
now lives alone
not counting the sea's company
she is blind
and compares herself with weaving
what does she weave
on the dark loom
for me it's like
an empty platform
like absolute
irrevocability
like a pensive drowned man
with a hat firmly jammed
over his ears
who floats
with his head turned away
from the world
like night
in a mirror
____________________
Zbigniew Herbert
Reconstruction of the Poet
uncollected works
Ecco, 2024
