I have enough treasures from the past
to last me longer than I need, or want.
You know as well as I… malevolent memory
won´t let go of half of them
I used to think that after we are gone
there´s nothing, simply nothing at all.
Then who´s that wandering by the porch
again and calling us by name?
Whose face is pressed against the frosted pane?
What hand out there is waving like a branch?
By way of reply, in the cobwebbed corner
a sunstruck tatter dances in the mirror.
(Anna Akhmatova, March Elegy)