Algimantas Mackus

You ached for you own river:
to fold your clothes on the shore
and play with the water - naked.
...

Now I draw one timeless hour aside
black Maria In coalmines they dig up coal
to bury their hair Maria Death walks there
stalking the men Maria Ordering them to rest
...

Your dream was round and soft:
it will raise your body from space
so you will more perfectly dream
the taste of the orange.
...

The voice of a continent prays for explorers
the voice of a continent cries out for adventure.
Round as water, salty as it is,
I raise the season of death to my lips.
...

we will never find anything:
neither earth nor spring
written up in green letters.
...

Green all green
as I want the green
to cover a fading pale
bathos of birch
in the coarse homespun
of a northern moon.
...

The voice of a continent prays for explorers
the voice of a continent cries out for adventure.
Round as water, salty as it is,
I raise the season of death to my lips.
...

Instead of the somber grace to live
understand what a mean joy dying is
...

It's not to go to sleep we gather
in sleeping quarters,
or to pour a dream together we carry
sand in on our bodies.
...

The one night I got to spend enjoying spring
would have to be the one I hit the dirt,
though the dew had turned green earlier,
much greener than anything that spring.
...

And death won't be won over.
Dead men don't turn back
once their elbows prop rubble,
with the north moon's north eye
...

I never loved the earth.
I meant to leave it
to its loneliness.
...

Right at seven that morning
right then at seven a.m.
it was that morning at seven
death had to have homage shown.
...

I would lift your body into the crown of a green tree
if I had a tree
greening.
...

Here's one place torture broke down.
I frown and am reassured
God is on our side.
Gott mit uns.
...

Tomorrow we go see you off
into the peaceful realm of the dead.
For now, we talk a whip-notched
language about to die out.
...

Maria was made for sex
Maria emerging from truth
Maria's the black
this blood
foam floats up on its crest
...

Our exile fading
is our language fading.
Zhilvin, oh Zhilvin please:
there's no colour to the breaking foam.
...

Soon, I will be no more,
soon, I will go to sleep:
My country is winter,
my country is midnight,
...