I had a dream about a border, very difficult to cross,
though I myself had crossed a number of such borders
despite the guardians of states and empires.
In the dream everything was fine as long as
we were not forced to cross the border.
On this side a nappy green carpet made from the treetops
of a tropical forest, we soar over it, we birds.
On the other side nothing.
Nothing to be touched, seen, heard, tasted.
We prepare to go there reluctantly, like emigrés
who do not expect happiness in the distant countries of their exile.
Czesław Milosz *