EVENING AT SOUTH
Weary evenings laid down resting on mats of the sea
(oh, gold thrown in handfuls over the lush groves of green!),
tremble black cypresses nighthrough as with sweet wine drunkfull
stagger obese as spiders over country fainted and serene.
Shivers warmth in half translucent fabric over evening glass panes
(oh, sweet warmth of moments dying in the sways of sea,
sweet warmth of gentle arms flooding worlds with scent!)
Stalking stars duck in ambush (crawled behind granite knee)
awaiting suns end to ejaculate with silver into spaces,
into night thick as honey, overpoured in eyes and lips...
Extends evening silent, unspeakable grave of thoughts.
Consciousness escapes into clowded ports of horizons,
remains evening alone, full of riddles, and yet silent..
'38, autumn
[trans. Piotr M.Salomon]
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