on the death of the poet Forugh Farrokhzad

Searching for you

on foothills of mountains,

on thresholds of oceans and meadows,

I cry.

Searching for you

in windy passes

I cry at the crossroads of seasons

in the weathered wood

of a broken window frame

that contains a cloud-stained sky.


Looking for your portrait

in this empty book-

how long

how long

will pages keep turning?


To embrace the flow of wind,

and love

who is sister to death-


has shared with you

this secret.

And so you have taken the shape of a treasure:

earned and enviable

another kind of treasure

which, claiming the earth, these lands

in this way

has made the heart embrace them.*

Your name is a white dawn that passes over the sky's brow

blessed be your name!--

And so we repeat the round

of night and day

in this way


now . . .