Goodbye my dawn, that rim of light
that might have lent to age its sight.
It’s nowhere, knowing there would be
too little for itself to see.
Goodbye my stream, whose many whispers
could not drown a sense of trespass
against itself. No way was found . . .
it left, to pass by underground.
Goodbye my sweet and neighbourly air,
that simply switched off everywhere,
as if it passed a sudden limit
in mixture with a foreign climate.
Just a few memories to keep:
lighter than feathers, lighter than sleep.