I am already quite scarce. For years
I have appeared only here and there
at the edges of this jungle. My graceless body
is well camouflaged among the reeds and clings
to the damp shadow around it.
Had I been civilized,
I would never have been able to hold out.
I am tired. Only the great fires
still drive me from hiding-place to hiding-place.

And what now? My fame is only in the rumours
that from time to time
and even from hour to hour
I wane.
But it is certain that at this moment
someone is tracking me. Cautiously
I prick all my ears and wait. The steps
already rustle the dead leaves. Very close. Here.
Is this it?

Am I it? I am.
There is no time to explain.

Dan Pagis in Selected Poems