Amid spreading blues and whites
floating above in the sky
as more and more
the dawn lifts its dusk,
the moon, high overhead,
peers curved, and yet
seems no more
than another cloud
so easily unseen or mistaken—
one little skiff among so many,
all much larger now,
nay, much more stately
and even thespian and amply grand.
And yet—isn’t it at least just as wonderful
to know what’s different in all such semblance?
Měsíc za dne, právě vyšlý z úplňku
Rozbřesk pomalu již pokročil
od vějířů ze stínů pokládaných zdaleka
k bělobám stoupajícím po nebi
jako z boků hladce přes paži kasaný šat,
a v těch rozprostřených bělobách
blaze vydechnutých po ránu
modř výšinám klenoucím se rozpíjí
a měsíc v tom moři tady téměř nad hlavou
sám podoben pojednou je obláčku,
jenž noří se a bezhlasně splývá
s bělostmi, jimiž modře cosi mizíc uniká,
a tak i z mnohého, co vytane nám na očích,
pojednou se stane stejně světlý, rozvanutý stín
a co bylo ztají se co dech v hloubi vlastních plamenů.
The Moon by Day, Just Beyond the Full
Daybreak had already advanced,
from fans of shadows cast from afar
to whitenesses climbing the sky
like a gown, smoothly drawn
from the hips across an arm.
And in those spreading whitenesses,
softly breathed into the morning,
the blue dissolves across the vaulted heights,
while the moon, there in that sea,
almost overhead,
has suddenly become like a cloud
that sinks and noiselessly blends
with those pale expanses
through which something blue
escapes by vanishing.
And thus of so much
that rises before our eyes,
there suddenly remains
only so bright and wind-blown a shadow,
while what once was
withdraws and hides itself
like a breath
within the depths
of its own flames.
Summer’s piercing heat and light
let those myrtles thrive and bloom
upon their highest boughs
in summer’s ardent blaze,
with sprays from swelling fountains.
What made a flower an all-out tree,
coated as dark-bronzed skin
in fragrant, suave, shiny silk
and both fluent and curved in love—
like a joining of a tongue and wine,
all along just as smooth to touch
where cinnamon and cream and tan
intermingle round a slender trunk
each one standing
so close beside its mate,
never truly single—
unless cut apart.
