The morning after I die

^{translated from the Romanian by Seamus Heaney}

The morning after I die 
Will be cool, like those misty September dawns 
When the dog-days are over 
And I blink awake in white air, making strange 
At a woolly light in the trees. 
And because it’s September, I’ll have come to 
Very early and – again like September – 
Be lonely enough to keep hearing 
The air drip-dripping towards noon  
Down the wet cheeks of quinces; 
I’ll be in a drowse, 
Praying to get back to sleep 
For a little while longer, 
Lying there, never moving,  
Eyes closed, my face in the pillow, 
As the deafening silence beats louder 
And louder and wakens me up more and more.

The start 
Of that eternal day 
Will be like a morning in autumn.