I think of bare limbs in the light of dawn,
Fresh as stems of tulips, round
And of subcutaneous delight,
Flowing through soul's veins,
Bouncing with sudden laughter,
High as the first-born day.
Think of attention and tranquillity
As in climbing mountains.
Above, snow, burning white.
It would be like that: slow, attentive,
Concentrated, rising until the white-hot end,
That is sacred, lonely and wide.
Only what lives and wears a body,
All else is death-sweat, dust and fog.
And every word should not be there,
And of the gods no image.
Tonight the narrow moon
Leaned slightly back and married a star,
Too symbolic and too distant
Because I could not touch.
I need a word that can stir magic
And bring you here,
Embracing me, I, narrow moon.
I call you and you're still not here!
For words, words, words, don't work wonders.
M Vasalis ~ Translation by L Roovers
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