your eyes are full of germs,
You wade into the undergrowth as into snow,
Certain never to be tracked.
You know the laws of this door that
Closes automatically as you enter,
Leaving no trace
Of anybody having gone through before.
Soft spikemoss catches
The weight of loamy, muddy feet:
As you look down you see
Them overgrown again.
You overgrow yourself in the maze
What do you wrap it in?
In ivy, in periwinkle
You tie it with clematis.
What do you nail it to?
To moss to moss,
With the remains of wilted knuckles
That you call roots.
What do you drench it in?
In the furrow among crayfish
That are mere skeletons of crayfish.
Just so you could shed it,
Undress it of the wear
That bears your cursed name upon it.
Under her skirt there is the very faint
Beat of the heart of her loins.
As she’s advancing towards him
Branches lift up kreutzers
Of her flowery coat.
A caterpillar gnaws the maple’s leaf.
Slowly falling spiders
With their backside elastane
Gaze six-eyed into the honeyed
Bright blue eyes.
And she has no eyes.
And he has no lips
And brambles stain
Black their backs.
They find you raging, foliage
Weaved of hawthorn and brier.
They find you because you’d dragged
A frayed jacket’s thread behind you all the way.
They give you wine so you feel again
The fickleness of gullets.
Human words begin to tumble
From your throat: cunt, cock, slut,
Salt, flour, water, vinegar, sugar, horseradish …
Coarsely you mash them between your jaws,
Spitting them onto the floor that used to be a cherry tree.
You talk like a man swallowing
His own kingdom.
For the last time you cast off all your clothes.
You wade into the undergrowth as into snow
Knowing that they’ll never find you.
Fingers of cellulose embrace you
From all directions, the bark scrapes off
All the layers of swollen humanity.
That’s when you pitch for the first time, and it
Doesn’t hurt one bit, even the tears are gone.
Mushrooms strap roots
To pitched new limbs,
And you lie down into the undergrowth.
And she closes the door behind you.
© translated by Jernej Županič