At the Cemetery

For Desanka Maksimović

A giantoak, its dense shadowscovering memory

You’re lying flatbeneath the grass and mud

When wind blows fromthe depths of the universewho’s listening?Whose breath passesthrough each leaf?Caressing the dark sea

your silencehas returned to its sourcelike crystal snowThe roots of your thoughts have silently climbedonto the shoulders of this oakPerhaps they still want to reach higher