WHAT NIGHT REVEALS
I raise myself out of midnight,
raise myself onto the bier of day,
with arms uplifted I raise myself,
raise myself by bright moonbeams,
I raise myself right up to the moon
to fetch the magic wand of dreams
and cast spells.
As bright sorcerer of night,
in the singing reflection of stars,
I form windows that are black and dead,
casting spells and gently swaying
on the gallows of moonlight,
hanged by night.
The altars have caved in.
Ropes holding churchbells
have been severed.
Wings have been torn from angels.
The eternal light has been snuffed out.
There's nothing left
but the echo of laughter
and the faded fresco
above the extinguished chandelier.
Everyone's gone but Herod's bored wife
searching for the Baptist's head
with her rosary in her hand
and a weary Judas
begging to be damned.
Heavy candlesticks with empty sockets
lie on the ground.
Translated from Slovenian by Herbert Kuhner