The heathwort dried in my voice,
The lullaby ivy in my throat,
I am leaving and you send your words after me- you are mine!,
You know, that I always return.
The migrating birds – the sign of excess-
The banal plot- when you are leaving you keep your motherland,
When you are coming you are losing it.
I am leaving the house empty without you...
When I am leaving I am extinguishing the golden fish,
I would leave them flickering-
On the ceiling and the bottom of the sea-
For you to return here.