Mozetič Brane:
Whiteness Which I Love

whiteness which I love, my death and passion

whiteness stretching like long foam wreaths in a river

flowing from the discharge to the parched, thin

crust, scaling, chalky whiteness, fiery

whiteness burning ever downward, deeper

to the tautness of a body that keeps growing, slender

to the rhythm of old galley slaves

in sweat that flows profusely, whiteness like horror

stories, traps at the end, like the velvet of gray

ashes, a gentle wind at night, whiteness in the utmost raising

of the membrane, when the hand is barely lifted, the eye

registers the shadows, when the body holds no more

only shudders, all its limbs, white blood, white moon,

springtime, prolonged sobbing, where are you whiteness, let me

catch you in my hands, no more slipping through my fingers,

pores, the earth, the wind, where is your whiteness

where that solitude as you evaporate, from here, from now

come on whiteness, let loose, drench me in yourself

deluging me like water, white and dry.