At a Certain Age

We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.

White clouds refused to accept them, and the win

Was too busy visiting sea after sea.

We did not succeed in interesting the animals.

Dogs, disappointed, expected an order,

A cat, as always immoral, was falling asleep.

A person seemingly very close

Did not care to hear of things long past.

Conversations with friends over vodka or coffee

Ought not be prolonged beyond the first sign of boredom.

It would be humiliating to pay by the hour

A man with a diploma, just for listening.

Churches. Perhaps churches. But to confess there what?

That we used to see ourselves as handsome and noble

Yet later in our place an ugly toad

Half-opens its thick eyelid

And one sees clearly: “That’s me.”

                                                                       ~ by Czeslaw Milosz