For decades you’ve refused to budge,
I’ve carried you with silent ease
along with the speaking dead in my back pocket.
I’ve known you for so long: your proud eyes
of a jilted woman, your torn
lips, your sly caresses with fingers
of Bible paper. Here they don’t kill
without the right religion.
Every day I ask myself who forgets the first stone,
why the whole world has for years stood screaming
at your bedside and I too sit dividing you by cafés
into no place like home. And meanwhile
children daily smash the windows of their immortality.
For decades I’ve refused to budge
and while drops of blood fall from your fingers
I lay with a sigh a second wind in your hands.
From Night and Navel (2017); translated by Paul Vincent