12.

I listen to breath hitting against wood.
A loyal swan sends loaves of bread.
And sweet greetings attached to the moon.
Plants with offshoots are dangerous
and sensuality hurts
if not precise.
Dough rising on my hands.
In my heart and in my head  
the same white flocks.
Startled.

12.

12.

Poslušam sapo, ki buta v les.
Zvesti labod pošilja hlebe kruha.
In sladke pozdrave na luni pripisane.
Rastline s poganjki so nevarne
in čutnost boli,
če ni točna.
Testo na rokah vzhaja.
V mojem srcu in v glavi so enake
bele jate.
Plahe.