Kovič Kajetan:

In the ordinary morning,

the stirring smell of dry grass,

the taste of dregs,

the wet scent from the cellar

and the earthen light

out of sudden dreams,

when there stand before the door

the white shapes of the dead

and sniff like docile dogs

the house and the doorstep

and the dark corridor

in which boys

of an early evening

first feel the quiver and terror of girls.

Translated by The Author