Murmur
Enough, enough, pale murmur.
The fire has caught.
The ants come after us,
cruel army
for whom death
is only a problem of space.
Translated from the Romanian by Mihaela Moscaliuc
Silence
When silence courses through you,
it can’t help but resemble death.
Miniature jade figurines contemplate the stillness.
Always,
half of me desires to be
wherever you are,
to bless the golden child,
the wind-up doll from the country of dolls,
to listen to tendons pop through skin
in the crystal manger
over life and death mimic wise men.
In your presence everything perishes,
king of kings,
wisest of wise men,
always
whole with desire.
Translated from the Romanian by Mihaela Moscaliuc