One afternoon I sidetracked into a church,
maybe for shelter, maybe for silence.
Red brick, a soft flutter of moths,
a dark-filled painting on a darkling wall.

Gee up, dragon, get him! With the south-east wind at your wing!

In the painting, in a rhythm of creacking pews,
like a No-theatre classic - George and the Dragon
have led each other on into a sacred contest
eye to eye, known of a thousand years.

Gee up, dragon, get him! Devour that good-for-nothing George!

That day in the church, ten wing-hours away,
I recognised you, Drako, among the monks,
in the whites of your eyes flashed a golden age,
when, in human skin, you tended tourist flocks.

Gee up, dragon, get him. Burn down that house of cowards!

Translated from Estonian by Miriam McIlfatrick-Ksenofontov