behind the florist's daughter eyes
is something big and beautiful
one room

no - a ballroom

a ballroom on whose scritchy-scratchy parquet
the precise toe taps of shoes measure
out for us the world's prettiest waltz

no - the salsa

no - the tango

the lusty and pliant tango of our thoughts
that is like the shadow of belka and strelka's eternal shuttle
on the surface of the full moon

the florist's daughter - the bouquet
that her mother on one of her nights of madness
arranged with guidance from all gods and demons -

it stands now
in a small dim dingy room
behind my glazed grey drunken eyes

the precise toe taps of the shoes of the florist's daughter
somewhere on a sidestreet mete
out redemption for us

surely that
which we don't deserve

Translation: Eric Dickens