There is something sudden in these forested fields.

Circular thoughtlessness. My most peaceful dreams

lead me into the green after all, toward undulating

nothingness. I walk down

cobblestone steps.

The clearing is archaic. It is not quotable.

Nonetheless, there is something attractive

about my recharging. Like to a gas station, I come

for fuel. Diluted, deranged time.

In the drumming soil, a water vein zigzags. Morse code

of the ancestors. This, too, is part of my meadow. Strands

of my hair cling to the root system.

In place of Moons, the Brain shines in the sky,

showing its dark side to another planet.

Orange vodka runs along its mouth. Or strawberry

froth. It’s just coming to from fainting.

translated by Timea Sipos