(English translation by Donna Stonecipher)

On the ground, several stones can be seen—
wheels of rain, of wind, turn, rolling
that refer to them, obviously;

the possibility, moving,
of a mosaic, this dance
the ground has, the ground near Oboda;

insects, looking for their pittance
this bee hums, and coming
up, a tuft of thyme, straight ahead.

To the ear, the length of the advance
of the bee, the caramel in crunching
folds of its body burns, spears

and spears the half-transparent
wings, too; in the silence,
the stones among, the sole voice.

...

A man passes; an ass follows
then another, the man upon an ass
that minces its steps; then, on foot, the man; cries to the third

ass, that limps; goats he herds by
and a dog, without the use of a cane;
jet-black beard, cry and fist rise up, similarly:

and at the night’s threshold
at the rear of the caravan,
the death of the ass, next, whiteness its rock salt fur.

...

There are, not far from here,
one, two, three building
bridge piers, constructions in brick.

Come, come, come over here
they say, three times, lashes fluttering.
Flustering, houses apply themselves

this, a long time ago
to beat so, in cities, planting
out the stones in the fields.

...

In jute sacks, in hands,
resins—one
the color of milk and honey

handfuls and handfuls
of crystals, rare qualities, spun
by reflections

more precious than wine, grapes
seen in the sun—
the makings of perfume, if you please.

...

Troglodytes: the dwellings,
inside the hill, can’t be seen;
then a bird

flies out from one, sudden—a pigeon;
terribly, mined by the wings
of indigo

turning
green, the row now neighboring
the rooms carved into the lime.

...

Under the wall that dominates them
the rock face, the rising
path, under the sun: mines

little by little; the cavities neighboring each
other under faults of nothing;
we have spent here—oh, all kinds

of days, nights; coolness
draws into the chalk, a caring
gesture for the repose of those making the climb.

...

Troglodyte, here’s Oboda
in the hill, this cavity
how to retrace one’s steps—walk

back; to see blue, to see green in the chalk carves
a passage, from the air
of here to there, and space—I make the climb myself

from a peak, upright, the chalk
can be seen, and all the activities
once more muted, in the space down there.