we don’t know why before the lead-sealed mouth of a manhole
we watched the stirring of the grey broth of summer showers
and followed the concentric orb to mystic lightheadedness
we directed our dances to ignored shopping galleries
and in the rancid space of empty shops fingers tightened on the maps of time
in a druidic language that runs like ivy over plaster and brick
behind iron shutters we prayed to the wind as it moaned under doors
that it would reveal the trail of the last of the cosmic bearded ones
discarded umbrellas wallets pieces of fabric
are to us as the oracles of torn bats
and, patient hierophants, we note the last thoughts
that escaped from the broken jaws of large suitcases
the first passersby find us asleep
like runaway orphans at the foot of a limetree
drunk on rich soil and rain
with an infinitesimal remaining sheen
we taste of the ash of free newspapers and restaurant menus
instructions in twenty-eight languages of mixers and convection ovens
we burned hoping to find the way to the holy horizons
among the dreams of thick smoke (20)
Translation by Anne Talvaz
EN 
MK