a slope, no, a great plain,
gentle hills, arched upward, i see a downward slope,
a stretching, acquiescing, an arc.
everything must be green and an obliging olive grove
bestowing exquisite shade, rare,
quite rare

it must be a distant trough
with gentle crossings, a railing, close to ground,
wafting on the silvery green fringes,
it's a meadow! a meadow! there do i want to feel the lingering
so that no one goes and no one pays or gets hungry
or gets tired. not the grumbling,
not the worry, that, as you well know,
is a demon of little repute.
we're not like this, we've got an abundance
bread here, words, fish
and substances. i'll say it right out:
we like what substances are and
what they do.

how wonderful, the opulence here, that is just like life
and like the word and better still,
but Jesus Christ, he tells me so
„your center has long since gone.'
maybe highheels could be of some assistance
for balance, luckily, the apostles are coming
down the green slope, crossing the olive grove with a selection of
stilettos.

Translation by Mark Kanak