the rain wants to kill itself
With its fingers the rain stains your window and mumbles.
It wants to come in and kill itself.
I see you are in bed and couldn’t care less.
In the dark. Naked. Couldn’t care less.
Your hair loose. Your thighs spread open.
And there, in plain sight, black moss!
Your left middle finger busy, busy!
Villain, searching for the red crest.
While golden honey already oozes.
You call me from your delirium tremens.
Me already changed into a crow.
I fly down into your lap and peck, peck.
And then in my beak carry the caught fish away,
to go play cards and drink.
While the rain with its fingers
makes stains over your windowpanes and mumbles,
counts its beads,
wants to come in and kill itself.
tr. Charles Simic