Petr Král: Intimations

It’s not
about glory even behind the Sunday
wall
somewhere perhaps there is dawn
in the bleeding of bricks

the hunters go and there is smoke from their guns
something continues missing among the branches
after the last farm

the day joins us each one of us
inscribed at least with a finger
upon the tiled surface

As it comes closer rather intimations
than lands
there is an increase of boards from dismantled bathing places
of planes fallen from low branches
in the orchard at a distance

We live together somewhere in the half-built house
I sense a tale darkness in nettles army at the back-yards
hot flesh of thighs nearby


(1997)

Translated by James Naughton