« Trace
Water Hydrant on Niemodlinska Street
for Darek Sosnicki
eaten through by rust, but what a thirst it arouses
in that dark gray stocking of dust and mud.
Two, three hits with the edge of a hand
and a waterfall bursts where the AUF arrow points.
Bubbles of light pop out multiplying,
the white uproar drowns out the world.
Icy stream washes away the bridges
between words, melts the soul.
Until one reaches via the nameless river
a strange time and an odd body.
And the hydrant still works, kindling memory,
pointing with the ZU arrow to a sunny afternoon.
Translated by Piotr Florczyk