from the burning
scissor-steps racing
peels out tetrapod fly
to the edges of breath
and facing
concrete
the curbs sway against
our eyes a
red repoussé
between your lighter-fingers
something grows warm like fox fur
fast as you can baby
under my thin
tongue rattles the other
half of the slogan
casually your neck dries
up the rain-light

Translated by Bradley Schmidt