F S G
And there at the very apex
Those three secants cross and
Times spill over in the centre
Of the eye divine as a mystery. But
There they are tacit on time. Here
Meanwhile we are bound
And finished like the smallest lump.
And mistress geometry sports like a trained
Seal. Bounces the earth on her nose.
And we slide along the surface.
And now this angle of looking changes.
There day and night blink in shifts
Day night. But in place. Without
Periods. I know it’s difficult. And
Mistress geometry sports and our necks
Are ruddy from this lesson in gymnastics.
With the father. With the son. And with the ghost.
przeł. Tadeusz Pióro
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