Ivan Dobnik - 8

a pure hand is pure light
a dusk so deep it hurts

it all leads beyond
into the lands of floating trees, among the cedars and the yews

common hornbeams, glued at the roots, glow in a web with increasing precision
protecting the banks from disintegrating, protecting the sky from abandoning us

from abandoning the tears
from abandoning the rigid bones

the Bolska breathes
the beaks of birds sustain it

a sculptured heigh
t of weightless time
a car
ved faith – in a Utopia outside writing
how violent the desire, how thirsty the yearning
that negates the banks – transforming a bridge into a spring cloud

happy bumblebees retire into hives
among the quirks and whorls of a summer breeze

Translated by Tadeja Spruk