75. The Warmest Place
If spring falls short, then be the spring yourself —
you hold abundant light inside, enough to give warmth
to whatever's within reach and even what's in view:
chair midriff, door slab, icicle knob, room.
Who cares if the Baltic is frozen — a Swedish arctic fox
has found a way across the page of ice to write
a runic greeting on the snow in yellow ink
below the lamppost. The coldest place at home
is the radiator's hip, the thermal plant having closed
long ago, and it's pointless to pin your hopes
on spring. Besides you hold within yourself,
enough fire to make the covers melt right off
and thaw the district to a mile radius,
plus a fair depth, and four more dimension besides.
Just for good measure. For starters. Be springtime,
the grass' green flame, its blood, be April, be sun.
92. Never
Never have I found you more beautiful than now.
Look — we're being hunted, yet still we walk around.
In front of us a road in the dust, a lively sea.
A life that turned out as I dreamed it would be.
_____________________
To the Letter
Tomasz Rozycki
translated from the Polish by Mira Rosenthal
Archipelago Books, 2023
