‘It's as if one lives on a railway embankment.
At first one notices every train, then one simply
doesn't hear them anymore.'
- a resident of Huntsville
when the electricity, that evening,
collapsed, the lights flickered
on the Christmas tree, went out. far off
the late train. us, the night, the roasting-smell -
the geese happily swimming in lakes
on the white porcelain. in the moonlight
the cleaned bones of the veranda.
we listened to the gentle rustling
of the big forest that circled the city,
then the carols returned to the radio.
a president sat in every television.
the railway without beginning, without end.
the roast goose.

Translated into English by Matthew Sweeney