As soon as the light had gone from the day
swarms flew to the bulb. Even the dimmest
     drew them in -
it pulled them to a pri­mal sun
that singed them to the core.

Lying there in your flim­sy dress
there was no line of resistance.
You heard the sound of men on board;
the enlivened com­mo­tion of scorched moths
col­lid­ing with the snare. In the dream
they were com­ing at you like lepidoptera
lift­ing out of the mist. Nothing
would kill this tor­ture. So you held on,
blind­ed by the heat of the moment -
the relent­less, hard-edged glare
until the men shut off the beam;
every­thing dying to an idle gleam -

how easy it is to burn.

 

Trans­lat­ed by Ioana Vîlcu

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