So what if I live unskillfully,
if I stagger
mutilated to a thousand eyes
Until late at night I classify tiny little nightingales, almost killed
I open and open the screens of distance within them
What if I want to breathe, to eat
where there is nourishing soup of air and books
at which I will sit
lean my chin on my palm
until my hand withers
and my eyelids confirm
So what if I take only the books from you
mouth for our kiss

Translated by Miljenko Kovačićek