Longer days
The winter rain is unhappy drifting against the window
It cannot come in it is too light to knock or ask
Beyond a whisper in the puddles which the mud steals
As its own only long enough for the steps to take it up
So we know whether the steps are coming here
Or to a there in a different direction going away in the silent rain
The snow though voiceless collects its silence upward
To visibility the shape of a voice without argument
This is the source of the grudge the steps carry away
This is why we are frightened as the steps come
From nowhere on a quiet morning when nothing
Should be arriving but the day a few minutes earlier
But here they come after the quiet winter rain
In the minutes surprised at how new the world is
seconds still falling like rain too soft
to cry out after slipping on a dream
Of ice on the heel of waking on these longer days
Translations from the English 
Lovely, Jeff!
Thanks!
🙂
I’m moved by “So we know whether the steps are coming here / Or to a there in a different direction going away in the silent rain”. Not sure why I think my house so “mine” that no one unexpected should be near, but it always startles, especially in early hours of daylight, and especially when no trace is left (no brochures or deliveries, no proof of having been there other than the dog’s distinctive proclamation) … this poem stirs my imagination and curiosity … perhaps the motion is a going away of a presence I’d been unaware of? Thanks for jarring my thoughts.