(Untitled)

Translated by Michael M. Naydan

 

Everything, as always, is justified—
All the roads you’ve traveled and even the futile ones,
All those rough morning awakenings
At filthy, empty train stations,

All the moths of hope that stubbornly
Beat against the age-old lantern of the moon,
Even those of us who’ve rubbed our feet raw
On the road to our justification.

 

 

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