Don't fly kites when you have me and with the slightest breath the rain-rushing sound from my waking dreams ... Our meeting place is five parts of the world, but there is also inner space, my love, with magnetic fields where compasses go wild, that is where the descent begins, step by step, toward continental depths of light, that is where we save our life, listen to the blood storm and become ancient though not without nourishment. You are here, I am here, both listening hard, but the needle-like quivering that erupts cannot be found without exposure. If the world around us is wise, it must forgive that we hide in the open, that we are naked, that we open our eyes and speak so that our thoughts can unite to embrace what is transformed in continued succession when we drown our hot bodies in cooling fire--remembered by burning maples whose leaves fall in flying glints, teetering, yellow, red, in autumn's diamond night when yours is mine and the reverse, within the soul's firewalls no longer have power to hold space apart. Pia Tafdrup, translated from the Danish by Thomas E. Kennedy.