THE TENTH, I DARE NOT SAY WHO THAT MIGHT BE
I reveal the tenth
out of nine mysterious
magically lost things:
Your image from which Your eyes have vanished
and the contours of Your face.
Sometimes at the place where there used to be a knife, a ring, a needle,
pebbles from Crete, binoculars, a pressed rose,
a letter from Ireland, a yellow scarf, a map of an eastern city
I hear sounds.
At the place where Your face used to be
I sink underground and become a sensual flow
— I gain the movements for breath when the East enters sleep,
I gain the suppleness to initiate the wind,
I gain the volume into which spring should be woven.
What does it look like beyond there?
Are there worlds? Where do they meet? In which augmented
How many joints have I got there?
How many azure powers wish me to be their blood?
How do I exist? Am I involved in what goes on?
Shall I bring along some spare things? An umbrella? Sandals?
How many suitcases?
Why have you rushed ahead of me?
Is that my soul flowing into the cheerful planets?
Perhaps you know it better than I do.
You know its inclination for detail,
you are in a hurry to affirm me, my dear nine things.
If that is so, hurry up, affirm me.
My destiny is being spun from the bottom of an invisible yarn.
Great mythical birds fly west
and bear me away
from events.
Perhaps that is why I am no longer even remembered
by my ultimate soul while it flutters
in the languorous universes.
Hurry up, for at the place of the tenth vanishing
in the depths where His eyes once were
there might sprout a tall violet
and flower forever far away
in His tall face,
behind the appearance of everything that has been
and that will ever be.
[translated from serbian to english by herself]
