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.