Michális Ganás
From: Upstanding Supper (1978)
Sleep
You gesture in a foreign dream
to a foreign body.
Sleep, soft grass,
verdure that skins your knees
and you melt with sleep.
Elsewhere the metals,
elsewhere your bones,
and the hammock of memory snapped.
Your blood,
fallen and risen,
and always half-finished,
as your hands ascend
to the breach in the day.
Translated by Avi Sharon
Page(s) 44
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