“Zamolxe’s Fireflies” (for a.v.) english translation
Neither linden leave nor the
perfume of shadows misted by
scattered caresses, did you reveal without wanting to,
but rather longings not yet ripened,
whose buds I alone know to break.
I resolve, thus to make peace with my
dacian spirit, to guide me steadily, with eyes
aimed passionately toward proud and
worthy verse, that I might
tell what befell me during a song of the panpipe
Unintentionally did I there recognize
emotion worked in clay, like pieces nested in
the breast of a bitter country,
like yearnings hidden yet again in
your eyes that sparkled with dreams
and smiles,
emotion written as though with tears from a
wellspring upon the
wrinkles at the corners of your eyes,
and in the lines of heated whispers
on your face that glows slowly like
sour cherries in a bottle.
And then, to drink with my heart,
the sweet speech of your words
That I may tune my wandering
spirit with yours, of black honey.