She was the first who showed me the moon
and the first snow on the [bad word] 
and the first rain.
Back then, I was as little as a tiny seashell,
and mother's black [bad word] sounded like the Black Sea.

night.

The oil in the lamp is burning out.
mosquito laments around my ear.
Maybe it is you, mother, in the sky,
is it you, this trickle of stars?

Or the white sail on the lake?
Or a wave against the sloping shore?
Perhaps your hands have sprinkled
my manuscript with stardust?"

[Interlude]

"The clouds, hollows, acorns and knots
have lighted up with great glare ---
as if the whole world was a silver [bad word] 
a silver bittern singing songs.

The leafs begin [bad word] 
the birds start singing,"
..

[Interlude]

"My mother used to buy such candles,
They are dozing.  nice intention is dwelling in them.

Just arrange them and light them,
and see what goes out of them:
a precious, rounded face gleam in the candles.
Mother raises a finger. The wind will die away.

Kiss mother's hands and hair
then sprinkle the snow on the alley ways,
so it twinkles and [bad word] 

Then all the twinkling lights.