Dragi Mihajlovski 

Translator

The wind has turned my tree yellow
My heart is blackened

Weren't you the ones that pursued me until midnight?

Nightingales bouncing above my house
My fear becomes ivy on the wall
Fire in a midnight ship.

Do you hear the voice
In the secret chamber of the heart?

The night is a golden cloud
You the stars that mislead me.

Nightingales kill themselves in heaven.

The dawn breaks, the bread swells,
The golden belt unfolds
In the books of the prophets,
The candlestick drowses
In the Revelation
And the thief descended
To the church, in Sardis.

I know that you dwell
In the book of the living
Breathing, in the sound
Of the unchaffed seed,
In the grasp of the key
In the hot crust
Over the pure uncertainty
That lifts us up.

The dawn breaks, the bread swells
The heavenly horn is heard
From the manuscript’s emptinesses
An invisible hand collects
The wax and the seals…

Here it comes, here it comes – the white horse!

I take everything from you
And each moment return a blessed emptiness.

Oh, words
Cold corridors for passing by!

Like earthenware
I receive the shower
Of your overwhelmingness
And at the bidding of a humble hand
I scatter you midst tables and furrows.

Emptier, I resound in space
Light and cold,
Echo before the builders of the domes,
Under the foundation of the arch
I take up my urn
And stare in apathy
High up
And emptily…

Oh, marble dust,
Oh, heavenly places!