Bitter and scarce is the northern light.
The sledge here is drawn by heavy shadows,
the owls and wolves keep watch.
A word crunches between the teeth.

I don't know, I don't know how to be here,
I am chilled by history.
All borders are cages,
all stories are locked.

What I'm talking about, is
the dance of dust mote
in the immeasurable sun.

Translated from Estonian by Tiina Aleman