In June once, in the evening, returning from a long trip, withmemories of France's blooming trees still fresh in our minds, itsyellow fields, green plane trees sprinting before the car,

we sat on the curb at the cathedral's foot and spoke softly aboutdisasters, about what lay ahead, the coming fear, and someone saidthis was the best we could do now-- to talk of darkness in thatbright shadow.

By adam zagajewski; Translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh