At the door

In March blow the winds, today the trees
    bend, and the wooden houses sigh
        on their foundations, we live in them,
    in their core, as inside ships
                   people's lives
    is to live in voyaging ships
       that glide along the streets
           amidst cars, dogs, tall maple trees
I ask what is their address.
And children run from giants' gates
    grown-up houses won't unlock,
        they don't even hear the knock, but
            the day when I stepped from the stream
    you received me, at the villa's heart.
        We don't know to whom we open our doors,
               when life begins
    we don't know if it's a poet or a child that comes,
       we don't notice; and quite unawares
          the one we love is at the top of the stairs
wearing a blue jacket.
In Moscow a funeral takes place again
      almond trees are blossoming in Rome
        behind the ocean the sun has risen
    but the world is created wherever we are,
        at dawn we open all windows and doors,
winds blow, hurrying for departure.

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