For Mraveneček

During the phone call, my dear friend,

in which you described your fatigue

from a quarter of a year’s continuous work,

and the nine pages translated today,

to which you’ll attach two more sheets

that should rise  like a white butterfly tonight,

during that phone call,

in which you made me cry with the thought

that sprang from your heart

after a whole day of being indiscriminately

tasked by others, the thought

that from now on you’re going to be nicer

to people and more careful

not to overburden them unnecessarily,

during that phone call, I saw you

as an ancient Asian warrior

in brocade and fur, wearing a dragon helmet,

who has buried an axe under an awakened

tree, and unleashed a paper

lantern covered in verse

of night and day

and a heart pure

like water.