The night is full of holes. They flicker,
stiffen, reverberate, windows in the night,
windows in the sky, windows of existence
and windows with no need to exist.

We stand on the steps and smoke.
The cigarette tips are windows in motion,
holes in motion, fire without flame,
and we need to be here on the steps.

These lanterns on the steps, windowpanes in the night.
The pictures where you lie naked on the shore
like a lizard lit up in the sand of light:
every grain of sand a sparkling window.

Every window a hole. Every hole a window.
Those who want to be born should slide
from a human window, from the window of existence
beneath the windows of the sun and moon.

Translated from Estonian by Brandon Lussier