VII

Our last meeting
was a May walk
to the place where Amálka lies.
We sat on her hill
under a tree.
The night was already dark
and we kissed
over the body
that I once loved
with a different kind of love.
Beneath us, death.
Between us, still life.
And all around, frogs.
I had never heard them before
to croak so loudly.
Every single voice of theirs
was exploding in the reeds
like a supernova.
One after another.
The entire universe around us
was perishing in the noise
and we didn't notice,
that we are perishing with it.
Was it a farewell?
Or could the night
just not outshout us?
I don't know which kiss
was the last one.
I don't know if during it
you were still coming closer,
or was already sinking below the horizon,
from where the light does not return.
If I had known
that I would never see you again,
would I have kissed you differently?
Would I have held you longer?
Or would nothing have happened
except that
that with every explosion of frogs
I would count
how many stars we have left?
Amálka was lying under the tree.
Beside me, you were still sitting.
And I didn't know
that once we leave here,
I will already be in that place
pohřbívat dva.