of course this isn’t an earthly paradise no oranges gleam
trails are lost and so are our traces
and all we have is a flashlight in pidzamche
but we need to head down there

running into the darkness what an unlikely pleasure
will the fire grow 
when the smallest silent spark gilds
the scattered sand the gap between our palms

and it’s tight between the trees and dark in this forest burg
and the awakened branches stretch towards us
and through the night greenery that turns up on the way
we take off from the hill we take off at last

and not a single star just the prick of thorns
and where is that flashlight does it still work
small scratches falls all worth the blood drawn
and even without hopes 
and even into the darkness 

because who are we in this world
beyond the seven ways
we pan for love like gold in a river

all houses are locked
a skirt covered in burdock thistle
and a splinter 
on the cheek

and a splinter 
on the cheek

translated from the Ukrainian by John Hennessy & Ostap Kin