Tomaž Šalamun
There Will Be Spring Again
Snow again. Trunks glow from tires.
Speed is slashed again, wounds drip on moss.
A normal steering wheel couldn't have saved me, Europe's
experience is like toxic green crepe paper, rings are peeling,

congealing like jelly. Monkeys have small light
movements. Energy emits between the colors of Maria.
Weasels are an ally, weasels are an enemy, the dark
is the ally, the dark is the enemy. When I broke through the first

valley I was gripped by clairvoyance as by tongs.
Laughter, hand washing on all the highways spilled me.
But here I need solemn staircases, a prescribed
walk, rifts are for those who jump off with

furious relief. At first glance it really does seem
like they are resting in their absence, but they are really just
growing old like yellow book paper, totally
instrumentalized by wisdom to the end.

Translated from the Slovenian by Ana Jelnikar and Joshua Beckman