weathervane
Translated by Jayde Will
becoming ever lighter
I ascend through the smoke
hole, exhale and turn on my back –
my wings spread through the atmosphere
like azure fans. down on the ground
a heavenly still summer day.
in a farmer’s open palm a small cross-shaped corpse
above a sandstone breast two black eye panes –
behind the panes
the deep fields’ starry landscapes.
indoors you tie a silk cord around my beak
and hang me from the ceiling so I’d display
the changes in the weather –
but I spin around my axis thoughtlessly like a top:
I’m not planning on telling you
anything at all
despite the bird’s eye view
of swirling dervish hurricanes and wildfires
which wipe old-growth forests off land
now dry and burnt. signs
like falling stars
break up into pieces on the threshold
one after another:
titles, news, articles
books, shows, conferences.
this debate is older than me –
but it’s up to me to resolve it.