Rain

^{translated from the Danish by Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell}

Now the heart-leaves of the birch are rinsed
of old sunshine and the dust of summer days –
when the harvest moon rose late at night,
burning coolly through fevered branches,
and the wind rustled in its dry crown.

Oh, those nights, abundant with hope
and words gentle as caresses.
There they hung, covered in dust, every
aching, wrecked promise now swept away
towards the shores of nothingness.

The absentminded city meets blank stares
as it dreams in the soft evening breeze.
It can’t understand the thirst of yellow fields,
but stones and people can also drink
and breathe the late sweetness of autumn.

So fall, little droplets, onto our hearts,
release summer’s scent from the wet hedges,
a new freedom like surmounted pain –
heavy dreams loosen their hold, and it’s as if
all bad things break when the good rain comes.