what is it like
the multiplied silence in the eye of an animal about to die
the bible of air and earth, water and fire
open, in the palm of a man who found his way onto your lips
and a wave
and the wave that brings the sunny foam to your eyes
when you do what water does
to flow, not to pause, to keep searching for an exit and persist
in the long, tranquil glide of a narrow-eyed buzzard
to come closer to the body, the rustle of summer, the upright midday hour
for the door to open, a passage
for a blank piece of paper to open
and a wave, in perfect silence
and a wave of wilderness, a snowed-in morning, the fragrant green of the guilder rose in spring
then the reeds sway
the fingers of the wind lean into an ear
Translated by Tadeja Spruk
EN 
MK