this dazzling table,
which you will hold
like the board of a ship
sinking in the greasy, oceanic soup,

I will be waving to you frantically
from the deserted island which will be peopled rapidly
and someone is to say Why are you getting mad,
and someone is to falter and stammer,

afterwards, they will say God. But I will comprehend
nothing, no magnitude, no truth, no touch,
just emptiness inflating the chest, gleaming
on the edges, that is all

(the end has to be swallowed like lead,
the mercury to be drunk)


tłumaczenie: Marcin Chruściel