On the Banks of the Irwell

One word
and darkness flutters,
it dissolves
and flies in a cloud of black butterflies,
despite the rain.
Behind it,
other colorful ones, sun, vine
and fruits in the valley and in the stone.
Kite word
that makes your laughter soar along with that of other children’s
amongst the knocked down columns of the temples.
Baalbek, Baalbek…

(from Of Dark Rivers. 2010)
Translation: Richard Bueno Hudson