Liberation Street meanders uphill, I open
my nostrils wide, smelling Duino Castle
and the cliff face, lost in a land
that needs me as much as I need it, indifferent
to the book of hours and its rhythm
dictated to me years ago. Undying
smell of algae, the weight of dreams
made pure in the dark, the wild rose bush
and the deep sea, I leave them all behind
as I walk up. The fortress
like an animal, hibernating, hidden,
hidden from. Twilight of a stolen day
and look—there where the lens
won’t reach, a pair of legs is spread,
dampness rejecting the difference between
a pitcher and a bowl. Look,
how far from the safety of form
I let the gaze be seduced, as if there is
no other way from the tower it’s taken me
this long to conquer, but down into
the velvet glade where my exile began.
I descend feverishly, as though I might
miss out on something, as if this moment
I’m sinking into has been here
from the beginning, like a compass needle
faithful to the north.
Translated by: Aleš Debeljak & Andrew Zawacki