Stasis, but
without death
out of the flower, fruit
grows deliberately
you shroud your hearing with
the rustle
of the poplar practiced at being
alone
fog like thinly sifting
sand
hills rolling round and round
as in a plasma
your other face which, in your departure,
you forget
the woodpecker
pecks at the house
of the ancient children
Aura Musat
translated by Adam J Sorkin and Alexandru Pascu
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Stasis, but
without death
out of the flower, fruit
grows deliberately
you shroud your hearing with
the rustle
of the poplar practiced at being
alone
fog like thinly sifting
sand
hills rolling round and round
as in a plasma
your other face which, in your departure,
you forget
the woodpecker
pecks at the house
of the ancient children
Aura Musat
translated by Adam J Sorkin and Alexandru Pascu
