Translated from the Slovenian by Andrew Zawacki and the author
Seekers after sources and rivers,
messengers of useless desires, traveling
merchants, a spider in its web:
they keep me company this early
evening hour, in the privacy of a groggy soul
who stands and smokes and three kids
sleeping upstairs. In a dream, my years
of devotion grind by, and an image unfolds
less real than I would want. Look at it:
translucent, not the least bit shy, it radiates
like an apparition over desert sands
others have discovered; but all the same it suits me,
so big and unsatisfied, like a monologue
running without a break, it lasts
as long as the pain of harvest grass
when left to rot. Look at me as I tremble,
you cannot miss how I reach for you,
my partner I do not know. Yet you alone
can fix my sight, you're a welcome
guest in every house, you detect
the failures in my speech, you forgive
the stutter that I am.