THE SUN IN WINTER

These immense wildernesses

Are confounded by the sun in winter,
Mediaeval spaces, criss-crossed with cart tracks

Recall small places in the East.
Although we are talking of roads
Leading from the north Atlantic coast

Down to Constantinople,
When the map was opened right out
The dagger was revealed.

I thought then that mountains were grotesque peaks
Thrusting themselves into the clouds,
Where green and yellow had not yet been joined.

That was a brief dream of grandeur.
The brilliant white mist covers the waves of the boundless lake.