have you seen, have you seen the sickle of the moon
in our earthly counter-point?

does it touch the crown of trees in your land
does it also pour down astonishing
astonished blossoms
that close at night to survive
the frost

survive and open again, drunken with light
in the morning?

Have they also reached your land, these low clouds
as heavy as udders shedding snow

the snow of lambs, they call it in Romanian
“ninsoarea mieilor”
when Dochia, the Carpathian Daughter, so young
yet as old as mountains, shakes off
the wool of her nine wintry capes
her nine furry shepherd’s cloaks,  to tell us
her story about the danger
behind a sunny morning smile

about the light sleep of savagery
between seasons