After You

...After you, the world is not the color of happiness,
nor does my brow touch the brow of the sky.
It is as though this night within my ribs
had never known light, nor the color of radiance.

I ask my heart about you — it is like me,
in the bewilderment of silence and the death of hope.
Where is love? O sweetness of the day of love,
the day my wings were in the folds of space!

After you, April is not at his wedding,
nor does the forenoon spread its blaze of brilliance.
It is as though there were a hoarseness in his throat
in which perfume died and song was choked.

I see the white roads in desolation,
as though winter lived in them.