It was the gardening of a superficial layer. A strict forbiddance of every chthonic alchemy. The growing of a separation as the only allowed displacing of lust. I would mount the sharp vibration of a smile into the scene of a postponed encounter. And in that way I would only thicken that sharpness. Into the sharpest encounter. Sharp and short like a burst with which German soldiers shot Polish postmen.
© translated by Serena Todesco and Silvestar Vrljić