Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

392 · Alain Lance
January
Lying on one side
Sleep broken
In the small hours of some night of snow
Organs
As rest
One might
As in water
Forget them
Faint glimmerings reaching
Towards the centre
Still closed off
February
Tracked vehicles
Squirt the desert stones
At the telephoto lens
It’s the war
Which invades our skulls
Of cooked beetroot
Silence of the guests
At the diplomatic banquet
A mad dog backs away growling
A corner of the table-cloth in his mouth
March
Going back for an afternoon
To visit the coast
This truncated land
Which unfurls in blue and green
Like an awkward diver I rise again
From the grumbling ocean
To the fleece of the cliffs
And with words which others trap mid-air
Distract my silence