from “Cattle of The Lord,” by Rosa Alice Branco

I stroll from street to street,
the trees spill them­selves on the asphalt road.
Soon­er or lat­er the leaves
will end up swept away from the side­walk.
Let’s call their dis­ap­pear­ance wind.
Let’s go on giv­ing names to all
we’ve lost in the name of words.

 

—Rosa Alice Bran­co, from Cat­tle of the Lord (trans­lat­ed by Alex­is Lev­itin)