hundreds of gnats and midges buzzed around
the flames, starving insects swarmed, as restless
as my pulse, from cracks in the earth, from bony
backs glassy wings grew, how it teemed
in the flurry of man-lit lights, how voices
pursued me, give me dollar, give me pen ...,
groping my pockets, to strands of hair and wrinkles
they clung, their writing movements,
eating movements hacking into the wind, flickering,
but it consumed them, transparent shells
bursting in the heat, crackling like begging bowls,
billowing stubbles, where the earth shows
its emaciated thorax and the stars peer
with the eyes of weary infants, my time will be
of the solidity of burnt stuff, forgetting
their number, smoking, anthropomorphous in the foehn

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser & Gabriel Rosenstock