a salmon pierces the afternoon with a fish quietude
metal-light the flame

phlox or the fluorine of a thousand flowers -

from the window the factory like a standstill train

the one malfunction in a man's heart
or a man's reverse

and the still-born race of clothes on the line

to put the books in order it's necessary to disorder the city
and all godless things

the late afternoon kites anchor the houses onto the sky
and we realise:
black holes are burrs in the universe

Translation: Ana Hudson