Regulation Poem by Maria Lee

The murder that committed you
twenty one years ago
hasn't lost its criminal traces
once and for all yet.

The love that made you
burned wings
in the first year.

In dying, let's not leave holes in the surface of space.
In dying, let's not leave holes in the surface of space.
Close the door upon leaving.
Lose your faith upon leaving.
Let's not leave our feathers strewn about strange bedrooms.

Translated from Estonian by Adam Cullen