An Imprint of the Pen

Whatever I touch,
time touches me.
As well as patience, care,

intolerable closeness.
Soft objects become
characteristics, while characteristics become matter.

Only matter.
In my notebook, I suddenly
wake up like a supple hand,

or, more precisely – a motion. I wake up
in fluid. Like
a melody that echoes in

sleeping newlyweds’ room.
I float and exist always
escaping. Because I am a sigh.

Just think how good
nature is to change me like
money. When in each

of my grains it sees consistence,
devotion. Precisely:
consistence and devotion.

otisak olovke

otisak olovke

Štogod da dotaknem,
dodirne me vrijeme.
tako strpljivost, oprez

nepodnošljivu blizinu.
Meki predmeti postaju
osobine, a osobine tvari.

Samo tvari.
U bilježnici se odjednom
budim kao gipka ruka,

tocnije – pokret. Budim se
u tekucini. Kao
melodija što odzvanja u

sobi usnulih mladenaca.
Lebdim i postojim uvijek
u bijegu. Jer sam uzdah.

Pomisli samo kako je dobra
priroda kada me mijenja poput
novca. Kad u svakom

mojem zrncu vidi dosljednost,
vjernost. Upravo tako:
dosljednost i vjernost.