THE INNER COLOR OF EYES

On the university steps sits a woman

just under thirty

smoking camels.

After the rain

she wipes her skin

which is so transparent that

you can see seaweed and sand underneath.

She thinks cool blades and silver nails

are falling from the heavens once again

mortally wounding snails

cut in half like crusaders in the sands of Palestine.

It’s important to talk long,

to whisper and pronounce

various words and the names of various things

so that the air around her

does not seem so empty.

After awakening,

all her men

hold their heads to clocks

like seashells

and listen to the sound of giant turtles

raising the silt

in distant lakes.

And you won’t even call her when you get a chance

because sometimes it’s worth dying to understand

that this was actually life

and that is why when you close your eyes you can see

on which side of the dream you find yourself;

after this change in the weather the pressure will rise again

causing capillaries to burst

in the eyes of passing butterflies

and her skin becomes warmer

and the water in her faucets and pans

turns to blood

and once again she can’t

make herself tea

or even a cup of coffee.

Translated by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps