Catulus once again. A new translation
Instead of leafing through, I brushed off the cobweb
at the corner of the book while squatting and thought:
nobody (ready to pay the price) has held it before me.
Perhaps the pages inside lead to dark paths
that humanity hasn’t walked.
Or hasn’t returned from. Or has returned but changed.
In a different time, space or translation.
But before I gave it a try, Flavius’s daughter
interrupted me. With a smile more natural
than a sparrow’s hopping. Years ago she and I
made a nest again. It now resembles a torn spiderweb.