I pray, I pray, alone
among green foliage I munch on chips, salty manna
-
City, vacant mountain, the moon aims
with the composure of a bricklayer
over the ditches …

The stars are dull, a braille script
in yellow house-light, down at the gate opressors stand
a bunch of zeros, snow-eyed
demons, losers with whistles—

but the world continues to breathe
at my window, no curse
drives it out of its secret
no worm gnaws on it, no roar of a sacred
cow
can melt it!

Wide field, under snow fences
it sinks back, into a granite sleep,
the ocean also sinks, also the large
sea-mammals sink, and all angels
are sinking back
into their hinged creation—

in a snow globe, before me
everything collapses, the stars shake themselves off
but nothing moderates the weight
of things, casts out the demons
these boneheads —

down at the gate they stand continuously
merry snow-herders
leaning on their shovels, playing a shell game
and their hats, there in the depth
fluctuate like discs ...

Translated by Christian Hawkey