Seventeen

In that remote spring,
You were springtime,
Radiant, dreamlike,
When I first met you
In fields of
Blood-red flowers…

All the girls
Born that year
Have now turned seventeen.

Those fields are now
Red again, with real blood,
And yet,
I am still
The very same
Fragile juvenile…

Even with the beard.

Varand
Translated By: Tatul Sonentz