A Stack of Hay
A silvery stack of hay under my head,
In a meadow, I dream. No, I'm awake.
So many stars above — as drops
Of dew on earth. A white road
Rises in my stiffening eyes.
The stack of hay
Reminds me of my fate, she's close to me,
Rocking me slowly in her cradle.
Smell of blood like blooming honey.
Hot lust gushes from the raw plain.
The stack of hay washed in dew and moon,
And I — it seems I'm lying beside myself,
Breathing in fresh hay the smell
Of green time. I feel, walking through me
Flower and scythe. I lie on an altar
Of colors and smells. Every rustle and sound
Comes strangely close, streams through my limbs.
The tiniest blade of grass, I ache its pain …
I lie in hay — a weary wanderer,
Till I myself become a stack of hay.