Suite No. 62

by Dorota Biedrzycki

Farewell to arcana,
branches,
sugars,
ink – The dangling girl,

I put her down in the dream book
Dear God, please don’t make me a poet

I see her swinging from the elm tree
That is all that interests me now – Sleep,
pastime, exile – I don’t want to be a poet

I want nocturnes,
fog,
oaks,
wine,
something is wrong with me
something is getting away

another sunflower, another border,
Death, eternity –
I want you to sit here until I fall asleep

The tranquilizers are kicking in,
she is crushing me, pressing,
onto shade,
your dark, swan-like,

Your hours,
damp,
blue,
those tight, white ivies,

The idylls make you
Forget your cocktail,
your room key,
that huntress,
the killer,

– Doesn’t
she
scare
you?