I will for­get about every day, sun­ny vagi­nas of Rio

and  jumpy jin­gles. I will for­get about every night,

dark forms, and appari­tions, and shad­ows of my parents.

Every­thing that mat­ters and which does not matter.

Every­thing that only just calms down. Every­thing which

divides things con­nect­ed in this dou­ble world

which is the best of all worlds, because there is no bet­ter one,

a bet­ter than the best.

For­get about everything—it sounds so good
                                                                
like the let­ter of the impos­si­ble, which is surrounded

by  the pos­si­ble, gath­ered there to form words in order to see 

the things that are said, melt­ed like can­dle-wax of that something

which we call memory,

which  remem­bers us sole­ly as dumb tunes

on  the deaf and frigid face of the Moon.

 

Trans­lat­ed from Ser­bian by Nina Živančević
 

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