From the collection “Valgus kivi sees” (“The Light Within the Stone”, 2019)
Translated by Adam Cullen


Or an entirely different beginning. I am a feather, living between books, on a shelf, upon a small cloth-covered box. Every afternoon, a patch of sunlight moves across me, the warmth that I eagerly await, the warmth that reminds me of wind. Objects’ yearning, they say, cannot be compared to that of living beings. But sometimes, I feel like skin that God has abandoned. I know that no one needs me, I’m no more than a structure, a memorial to the ability to fly. It encompasses my full existence: the white wisps, the symmetrical brown rings, the compact crescent edge that preserves warmth and repels water, the tapered tip. Found in a park or on a beach; from soft, sparse grass; I am a sign of autumn. A world torn to pieces, fully grasped by boundlessness. My task is not to assemble those shards, but to speak of them.