Alicja Kuberska writes

It is she

We pass each other nearly every day,

Distance of fear between us.

Life forces us to mutual disregard and acceptance.

At times, like an unruly child, she will spoil something,

To garner attention, to arrest with a gesture.

 

I see her in the wind, which carelessly

Turns over the withering leaves

And standing proudly erect in stalks stiffened by frost.

She paints shriveled trees gray, breaks limbs with a crack.

She is mute in the clenched throats of birds,

She stares with glassy eyes.

 

She is all-around and she reminds us of her presence.

She patiently explains the meaning of certainty.

I know she does not allow us to take anything,

When she plays the requiem and invites eternal sleep