Price of a minute or so (poem by Florin Caragiu, English translation: Corina Gina Papouis)

you laid the dishes and asked to be healed,
but the set sun is grinding the inside
where you hide your science. your cry is not a riot.
your bones are counted before the poem swallows them.

you can see the bodies protruding the soul like out of the sewage
and can not tell the distance between the car and
the half of a puddle splattered over the new suit
the street is broken into battle scenes
when the strikes have reached you and price of a minute or so
have wiped off the dirt on the jacket.

beyond the pile of wood you leave the grievances
of those pointing.

God is turning his face
so you can dislodge the part of me
gathering around a night vision

you pull me towards a stain of light,
but death is hanging outside the body
and with a silent noise it rattles
the bags of those returning from the market



(poem published in the volume "Sentic", Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2009, p. 13. English translation: Corina Gina Papouis)