How I’d wish to know
at least one
nickname of your ship’s keel
- that fluttering stallion
which consolidates whenever
a bell calling all the sea monks
chimes through the brine.
Each tender step of hers
for Dana Culling
Rowan berries on the snow,
or do you feel olive?
Butterfly clinks like a child.
Sound of blackbird´s feet.
By the ford of a fumous man:
do I wait for the blossoms of
an oak, a greenweed and a meadow-sweet;
or for returning home?
Tell me, dryad,
how do you see your eyes?
You walk upon the solid rivers,
you soar in the faseous ones;
now and then you sink
two hundred meters upwards.
I, lost in the yellow fields,
pound to my air shadow
with my wand,
looking for blossoming.
Crazy nettles run all around
as they look for a path for you.
I lead my little herd of stones
to a new pasture.
Paying no attention to thorns,
Maybe you will bring your animals
to my stones.
Dragon of hours sends
butterflies from gardens´ memory
to flame out some fires
and light up other ones.
I walk among them,
one of my eyes looks at your tracks,
the other looks for
the apple gate you went through;
the third skips between your glare
and the milder glow of flames.
Lava grashoppers sing so much
that the sun will shine again…
Salamanders and lungfishes went astray
and you show them the way
from the reservation of grammar
through the fog springing from mouths.
Air-raid of saliva.
By the forest stream, in audible light,
a core of a tree stump.
Let us write the song down.
A robotic pavement.
And beyond it
the perfection of a tree leaf.
The starlight of a meadow
wreathes my fingers;
swifts consisting of withered cells
show me the clouds;
a white ship,
half swan, half reptile,
offers me a castle whispering
that leads to treasures;
but I want your smile.
You waded through the river of flesh
to a land where tears are waist-high.
Animals ask for stalactites
from your face;
they want to purl a fountain
at the heart of the forest
dal lords sing
their bony song.
A pilgrim throws himself into the wind,
finds an unchanging tree.
A zodiac in his front eye,
an andiac in the back one.
A sun on his front palm,
a moon on his back palm,
stars around his chest.
He firerakes with his front leg,
looking for a third eye,
he replaces the trees with his back leg
to places peopled too much.
When he longs for hilly dreams,
he goes to sleep to a little house
built on the forest shore by you.
He contemplates, contemplates all the time,
about the worlds you have opened
before you left
and whether to visit them
and whether they stop coming to him.
And whether he will see you again.
And when one has to pay.
He lies not about volcanoes
in case someone meets him.
If he is broody, just let him
stand in the tide;
throw to his net whatever you have in your pocket.
Say a prayer for them.
And for yourselves and for everything.
Look who goes with me:
two storage jars whose bottoms
are glued together with honey
rotate on his head:
a counter of jars, actually.
Crows are here
and so are ravens and greycrows,
but not magpies, not magpies:
a pebble typewriter took them for a trip
on a narrow isthmus,
to a road to a little church,
lit by sun shining through olive oil.
A ship which carries here a little balloon.
A red one.
Which won´t blow up.
Oh, I don´t think so.
You recognised a beck
and wanted to get a pebble on its shore,
but a sauropod
was hibernating under it.
Sorrows go with you like fossils.
Those on whose family you´re all at sea
you systematize as Megalosaurus.
Come to me, someday,
to my tower,
I´ll classify them.
You juggle with little diuretic suns.
In the meantime, she sips the tea for which
the water was prepared by a painted harp.
Birds of prey flew here some time ago,
each of them took hold of one of your fingers,
from honey buzzard by your little finger,
through Harris hawk to a stock owl
which stood to your thumb,
and they carried away your hands,
which had so often created their silhouettes upon the walls
over the hill to her, where your heart
dwellt for so long.
You stood together in the sun
and looked at the sand
and it wasn´t until then, when she was with you,
that you saw the sand is a beach of a magical sea.