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
EN 
MK