Pill boxes, patrols, protocols: this is what made
the locals come running, so nothing should be disturbed.
Softly, softly, we thought. That graveyard needs moving
further south: chop it up
among urban allotments, carve out
wide boulevards and tunnels, erect
viaducts, excavate canals,
launch speedboats, ferries, hovercrafts and junk
the heritable past; let the map heave
with bulldozer silhouettes, he said
(lighting a corner of the map)
for this shall be our theater of war. And then what?
Unlock the fog. At twilight
only a boy’s quick laugh in a blind back alley
shall echo that time shift of desire
all lost in space beyond their dreams.
(Translated from the Polish by Rod Mengham)