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Evening, Among Muses


Mouse! My grandchild, my suitor!
At sunset I see your two white little
eyes and in them
two baskets of red flowers.
Who will drink wine of pressed
cyclamens! Aren't you afraid, Father, you will
ruin the shape of the basket and the juice
of your eyes will spread?
Mouse! My grandchild, my suitor!
Your belly is the skin of the dead rabbit,
crucified above the Parthenon.
Or above brothers, the World Trade Center,
because rain falls to earth always from
below. From the sea.
And my grandchild whom I beat with my
racquet so he falls in even harder spurt
toward the Statue of Liberty,
my suitor dies in the air.
His eyes melt
and unbolt the door for the scent's
free way to heaven.


     Translated from the Slovenian by Michael Thomas Taren and the author