NOCTURNA I, by Stefan Augustin Doinas
(Translated from Romanian Language by, George-b.)
Slowly, we turn our face towards noone. Ah, how grand’s
The absence while standing guard at the border of winds!
Woken up in the throat, the sleep gives back the nightingale
The movement lost to arbors in the ground.
For a second the landscape’s negative pulses.
And then an owl absorbs it in its eye.
And look- our star stumbles hurt
By the deities’ breath filled with flies.
Only the fire flies carriers of its message are left.
But- to whom? Those dead unshell new stars, in their mouths.
And us, captive in the iris, have no courage left
To pick at the eyelash that’s blinking for us.