to Kierkegaard …
My voiceless birds, do not look at me so
I read your suffering in your eyes.
We sense each other’s grief
We can not speak, we can not converse
We discern from each others’ eyes
You, mostly you have seen
My tear-washed face
When I did not have the strength to carry my suffering
You lifted me to my feet
You held me in the apple of your eye.
Translated by Kelly P. Goodwin