Strniša Gregor:

They’re not eternal, these heavens,

these absent galaxies,

not eternal, this blue star forlorn -

only we mourn.

We mourn as a small creature,

in the hills, sometimes, mourns away,

except that maybe our hurt is deeper:

will the memory stay?


Will the two of you ever, in memory, here,

as you did, live again - will the memory go?

Will you be, at least, without the memory, together?

Will she, will you know.

Translated by Tom Lozar