alone. I feel annihilation

filling my palm and filling my arm. I feel hope

fading far away beyond the reach of the bend,

where time passed us by

some centuries ago,

and tomorrow it will pass us by again

and see you digging by yourself in grief and stillness.

It will pass, and you will be digging through the heaps of ice

in the soil, in these veins of mine.

Then a time will come

and warmth will creep into the motionless body,

the body of the man living in his cold grave,

and there beneath the darkness lie two dead ones,

two dead ones whose arms have frozen like the ice,

and stubborn time passes

by them once again

and sees in them two companions

who long dug in the dust,

dug in the fog,

dug on without ceasing;

perhaps they dug in the pallor of autumn

or the scowl of the fearsome winter.

Long were they seen digging,

digging, still digging in yearning —

and now they lie dead upon the soil.

And time moves on,

dragging their remains through the sands,

and it sees the dead-living man folding up the nights,

astray, alone;

no place contains him any longer,

nor any time.

He has lost tomorrow,

and there remain to him yesterday and the two dead ones

... and time went on moving...!