On the branches whiteness
Standing erect. What shrub?
Flower toward me. I pull it off,
Fatally I pull it off. I am my pleasure
This flower smells of...
I remember the attack of this almost sourness
Sharp like a taste.
A taste or smell. And a faithful name. Maybe...
Yes, syringa! Perfect: in its name it becomes bare.
Translation by Joaquín González Muela