The Three Baskets (2000), The Three Baskets

 
Seven

I’m strolling the city in want of the devil
or of an angel, or of whoever immortal,
who’ll be describing the places I’m drawn to
unwittingly, telling me
their story.

This shrine was built on the place for sacrifices.
That shapeless tree leafs
a hermit long moldered in its roots.
The air vibration above that stone indicates
the circle amid which
our celestial ancestors have descended.
And right here witches have been burnt.

All that exists
and is just where it’s happened.
Stays ineffaceable, as if
the contrary will prove
the Being is helpless.
The Earth and Water reproduce it,
the Fire saturates the Air with its energy.

The night’s so bright.
Going astray, I’ll see myself
being ripped up by the hidden voices as by horns
and leave no trace.

tr. by Hristianna