Shall we ever make
earrings from the stars,
my goldsmith,
the after life spirit of metal?
In solemn chiming in deep silence
when Hiram the smelter crosses his arms,
when dawn raises its eyelid,
when Erasmus takes a walk
from Babylon to Vatican
for once –
We shall make
far away from
wise Alilay’s ear,
from the underground daughter’s step
towards the tabernacle of the earthlover –
from the molten starry scum,
we shall make
and not just once
and not only in this leisure song,
Anna-Judith!
L. Ivanovska