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CONFRONTATION No 88/89, Fall 2004/Winter 2005
Long Island University, N.Y., US

    Love

It gets up first and bustles in my head
arranges images and the sequence of emotions
steps aside
tries to walk softly as if it's never existed.

I don't touch it mornings
that's our agreement and I wait
for it to wash away in the monotony of memory
in the disloyalty of time.
I wait so at last I won't have to wait
all day long.

Evening comes and what's next my dear Lao Tzu?
Here I stutter and confound the audience
those squinting eyes of a chinese cat.
Always at the same place in the dusk
I cross over to the other side of the word beyond the image.
The idea of self-eclipse doesn't exist there.
There's an entry into light one period of time
and love's trusting unhumiliated face
at the level of our eyes and lips.



    Translated by Ewa Hryniewicz-Yarbrough