Whoever you may be: in the evening, leave
the shelter of your room where you know everything;
for your house stands at the edge of great distances—
whoever you may be.
With your eyes, so tired that they can
barely free themselves from the worn threshold,
you lift up with measured pace a single black tree
and place it before the empty skies—slender, alone.
And have made the world. And it is vast
and like a word still ripening in the silences.
And as your will grasps its meaning,
your eyes tenderly relinquish it all. . .