Ulica je bila prazna kada sam sumornim smijehom
zaustavio slijed prolaznosti i žbuke,
iz kojeg se cijedila drukčija slika ljubavi.
Praporci taštine i goloruka simetrija
blijedili su poput mladih mirisa i biblijske nostalgije.

Na istom sam mjestu susreo toplinu
njezinih dugačkih prstiju, u kojima se
sramežljivo pritajila drevna opasnost piromanije
i onaj, svima tako drag, matematički jasan
osjećaj sličnosti.

Milijuni pogaženih koraka
na vlažnu i blatnjavu pločniku
svjedoče o jedinoj pravoj prošlosti, upisanoj
u mukli kamenjar ulice, zatim u stereotip,
uobličen svakom bjelinom moje usputne rečenice.

lipanj 1991.

The street was empty when with a gloomy laughter
I stopped the progression of transience and mortar,
a different picture of love seeping from it.
Sleigh bells of vanity and the unarmed symmetry
were fading like new fragrances and biblical nostalgia.

At the same place I met the warmth
of her long fingers, among them,
lurking shyly, the ancient danger of arson
and that mathematically clear feeling
of similarity everyone finds so very dear.

Millions of trampled steps
on the damp and muddy sidewalk
bear witness to the only genuine past, inscribed
in the dull rock of the street, then a stereotype
shaped by every whiteness of my incidental sentence. 

June 1991