He is a gardener
Sleepy from idleness
And a little forgetful
No one hears him hum
Busying himself a with dim memory
Of the owner of the hair
He guards between his ribs
Even if the longing for golden idleness
Expelled from paradise
Were to prevail within us
We can agree that it’s sad
To waste a lifetime
In a company of a single hair
As for you erecting triumphal arches
Weaving rope out smoke
Take a look out of your window
Dusk as if at the world’s end
Slowly burning heaps
Of dead leaves
As winter walks into gardens
Translated by Charles Simic
EN 
MK