Now we shall dwell inside an eye,
seen from all sides.
The sphere will surround us in full glory,
with maps beside.
Treetops are turned toward us,
mountains, cities, cathedrals...
Like upon a wall of death,
the cars blacken, white whorls.
I hold you by the shoulder.
Feeling as cold as ever, your temple tilts.
We are two and lonesome,
and in place of our heart the moon now beats.
Translator: Vasile Andreica
see more poems written by: Nichita Stănescu
