Udovič Jože:
Black Regions
A region where the air
still smells
of burnt sacrifices.
I hang
funeral wreaths
above it
on every cloud.
A region where
weapons of death
have ravaged meadows
hugging stone.
Above it I unfurl
a fabric of verse,
weave memory
and the smoldering dark
together.
A region where betrayal
has forged its knives.
I sprinkle it with dew,
cover it with ashes,
and bound,
pitch headlong in.