In the body of the town I’m a pupil.
I wander along its entrails,
with my pack, at an easy pace
from place to place.
I know like my own five fingers
where things are—the smelly things,
the flowing things, where the tramps
get moved on, where they linger.
In the body of the town I love to settle
like pubic lice in trousers.
In the body of the town I’m a monk
for whom there’s nowhere to kneel
and as long as the place is possessed
by its crazy thunderstorm,
I’ll wander round, an alien
microscopic life-form,
leaving a stubborn trace:
I gasp, grow speechless, go gray.
I’m sorry I don’t belong
—but my vision is my own.
Translated by Yury Drobyshev and Carol Rumens