Wednesday, April 17, 2019


From Stone

I pushed him deeper into the slope.

The water was sweet and

tepid. For centuries the winch

hasn't worked.

Sing-alongs go to dust.

Scent is powder.

Algae, handled, harnessed

first into waves,

the into shudder. Shudder, shudder,

shudder on the shore. On the

shore by the boat. When the

drum, the ring around the

the cosmos, melts. We're inside a small house.

There's a fingerbreadth of the Lord.


Tomaz Salamun
translated by Jeffrey Young and
Katarina Vladimirov Young
Black Ocean Press