from An Island Where Evening Never Comes: A Cycle
The Decor of Luxury
A small square of grass
enlivened by sunbeams – firs and birches above –
from their branches odd lavish cages dangle:
dry and white, filled with the shadowy despair
of green and blue parrots.
Closer and closer I move toward
the sea that tastes like the red core of a watermelon.
Farther and farther away
my heart drifts
with its voracious
but serene scream, my heart
that tastes like pomegranates –
more and more luminous. Yet quieter.
Almost a pilgrim.
Translated by Michael M NaydanTess Gallagher; Lilian Ursu
Page(s) 195
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