In turn I slobbered my hands to be able to
flatten the woods.
To be able to recite Racine.
To repair the tent that Artaud
perforated to Valéry.
In the snowball there was a cuttlefish bone
which exploded near the wall. When
SEA was written with dough
on my six soldiers, where was the seventh one?
I remember unknown persons joined to play
when the boys already wanted to get up.
They would carry away the black sun
as a keepsake, like saltcellars.
The black sun vomited white foam.
The dark gray light above hills
on the other side of the Loire delta
is completely different than the light
of the sky above clouds when the day breaks.
The seed smoothes out the cube.
Translated from the Slovenian by Thomas Kane and the author