Grafenauer Niko:
The Walk

   Slowly,

as if veiled

by a dying urge,

I walk among somber winds

that bar my way.

Sometimes fatigue illumines me

like a dark flame.

Tree-roots

clench a handful of earth.

Owl shudder in their sleep

like heavy hours

and their wailing cries

flail into the night.

 

   Summer

is a vigorous stir of light.

Phantoms bloom in a long beam.

Translated by Jože Lazar