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Cobolt
[10 Poems]
Translated from Romanian by Andrew K. Davidson
Love Poem
The wooden horse no longer swings
garden gnomes have fallen on their faces.
I knew you in the month of red fruit,
when hands were a collapsed sensu.
My sad face passed near you, before you,
it invented a part of the sky, then some hills,
a herd of horses and a border of fog
to keep you from leaving again,
and remembering all about desire
about its violent fragrance
my face went groping through roots in the dark.
The peacock was sleeping when you passed through water
at dawn, as through slow blood.
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