The fiddlers, the wedding guests
have put on black clothes and are looking for you.
Nervous, I come near
and tear up my gown. I dip the white rag
in viper blood and crushed herbs
that bloom only once each year.
How handsome you are!
Ceremoniously, you take off your suit
and I paint your flesh.
You press yourself against one wall:
the imprint of your body stays behind
as if it were someone else
whom you’re now just beginning to recognize.
Translated from the Romanian by Mihaela Moscaliuc.
He bears his vertebrae on his back.
I wonder what spiritual rage drives him,
what joy, what terrible need to push on.
Beyond this, the world –
shining abortion, unpredictable fetus
whose eyes learn how to focus.
Here – the cloud
grown to resemble
a child tormented in the snow.
Translated by Mihaela Moscaliuc