Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Milorad Pejić

THE RIDE

We’re traveling together, without shadows, like lanterns. The silence of snails in the dank woods is crunching under the wheels; somewhere in a moonlight’s beam the crescent of a weasel is flashing; you stare at the road all night. I can’t see the precipices myself, those gaping coldly next to us: I keep an eye on your hands all night watching the reins lest they slacken. If you fall asleep, I’m no longer on my way. An ill-timed death is lurking for me curled up in your darkness.

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