HIS HANDS

(translated by Brigitte Orešnik)

They wring like flames,

they shine in the dark,

and in my mind.

They warm me like a fire

in the cool of the night,

and life.

I know nothing about the man anymore,

about his eyes and lips.

Maybe there was no man?

Only his hands.

His hands and his voice:

An accompaniment to the flickering hands,

a lullaby for tonight,

and forever.