Hide me in the shadow of your wings,
not to be seen in flight, when I
would fly with you, not for the eyes
is the wing, the eye breaks off the dove-
feather on the upstretched muscles.
Dirty guano is all the flutter
on the square where tires drive away
my jostling shame from the morsels,
for so much I long for you, with a split head,
with stupid dovelike motion, to be saved.
A bird's wing smeared on stone, the flesh is a road
to you, if it is, or isn't, at the end,
and it has no voice, it flops, the carcass of a dove.
Translation of "Zsoltárhangra." Copyright István László G. Translation copyright 2007 by István Geher. All rights reserved.
Read the author's "Aqua Fortis."
This copy is for your personal, noncommercial use only. You can order presentation-ready copies for distribution by contacting us at firstname.lastname@example.org.