The moonlight is ice-cream cold.
Empty as the songs of troubadours.
It is pleasant to sit in the shadow of the night.
Latrine, Pissoir. Here.
The man behind the door, what does he want?
He stands like a shadow
behind the translucent door
of the moonlight.
Moonlight over fields
is like petrified sorrow…
Your body shines
in the moonlight.
Notes
translated by Katarina Jerin
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