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In a broken kaleidoscope
the patterns are fascinating.
Guessing at the lost symmetry,
one must reconstruct the angles, define
the broken-up shapes.
The cylinder twists, the cylinder
aims at the sources of light.

Going blind
is prohibited by the decree of the common ancestor.
Setting out on a distant journey,
I will bring with me neither friend nor foe,
I will feel no relief and I will feel no woe,
uttering my goodbyes.
Looking into the kaleidoscope’s peephole
I unravel disquiet.

A white
book with its stripped pages
tells me of time –
that it is like a stone, tied
to the neck of a drowning girl by a rope – as a guarantee.
The notorious abyss devours – yet I
still attempt to rely on
the elliptical nature of lies.

Amidst the blue vessels
the stitching breaks off on the palm.
For whom is this ship destined?
In an emerald crown
Argo leaves without you.

Starting now
you will sleep alone
as is fitting for a villain.

translated by uilleam blacker and oksana maksymchuk

the original poem

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