There's only five minutes left to you
Before I put out the lights.
Because the poem for which you waited all day
Isn't there, simply enumerate what is.
So then: tired books on the table,
Plants have folded their leaves and are now asleep,
The TV is buzzing and above the table a moth is fluttering,
Fatally in love with the light.
Only a minute now. Thirty seconds.
Now I'm naked and in bed. I hear you:
Ten, nine, but - haven't I forgotten something? -
Six, yes, five, I forgot four,
Three, but now it is two and for that, too,
It's too late. I can only firmly shut my wings
And hope you'll wake me at zero.

Translated by Evald Flisar