DRAMA
You begin in the kitchen
where the smell of celery
spices and last year's snow
thaw in your eyes
your furnace is a tale
you are narrating
my mouth gapes at it
eager as the source
or as if it saw your own face
that leaves traces
for my tragic recognition
you strip off your carnal shirt
under the steam jets of the bathroom
you fold your bashfulness
as if it were a letter
you write to yourself
I recognize the wild breath of herbs
the tickling of birds
hatched in shadows
- this is the border zone
of my female ego
that dares you
to be ripe and gaudy
you take a mirror to refract
light beams: this is the famous world view
from whose threshold you yourself
have become Holy.
Sanctus Vitus.
You feel young again.
You revisit first time around
and you turn to all four sides openly
suddenly, paganly
all you encompass is meant to be nibbled, licked, sucked
so that you and the other co-mingle
you are whispers and extending
getting used to pleasure
learning the rhythms that will achieve quietness.
Even your trace in me is transcended
and my disquiet is, you say,
uncovered, transformed, inconsolable
throughout
Maybe you sense the same abyss
maybe the same deadly water
blocks your way
maybe everything is really happening
as I wait
for you to appear.
Translated by Ilija Casule and Thomas Shapcott
