these roads all wind here
to launch words
scribbled always in faith
on the rim of being
nested in gilded ice
where belonging
has no rationing
where imagination
has no price
the vision is keener here
where hills buckle at the knee
crumbling toward desire
and from our debris will be
built this unearthly city
where hope is a stifled
advertising ploy
a thrashing metaphor
a buoy in a choppy harbor
in the reddening dawn
of all our awakenings
such scented petals
intoxicating arbors
whose scattered
leaves we try to bind
our future spinning
in mulish revolutions
blind to speed
our intentions justified
just to survive…
Translation by Peter Hargitai
