crossing the river

translated by PLS

leave the river too long, then you try to look

no longer obsessed with butterflies, no longer

afraid of the blinding reflected light of the telescope

what’s burning is still the rubbles untamed, still

the arched body standing at the head of the bridge

trembling, reflecting, crushed between the banks

screaming, curling shells of cocoon

“You shouldn’t cross the river!” yet you are already on the other shore

because of a similar joy from brushing past each other,  again sculpted into

a blood-stained statue by the fornication

of similarities and differences

“how could you cross the river” yet you are allowed to plant flowers

using orange leaves and inked hands to feed

a squad of dogs turned into a storm rain from continuous barking

at least, this evening is still sculptable, still

gentle enough to grant one sleep walk

                                                             “what can I do about you”

at the end it’s the intermittent groans of passersby

yet because of this you always wail

wail over a river too long, too dark, too wild but silent