I don’t know what I came here for, only that everything else
was impossible, that the little No I’m now holding up in front
of me is just a sorry shield against an abundance of milky stars,
a slip of meaning: Only that my little cardboard sign is just a
hint of what is unused and shiny and drawn through this
morning completely untouched: I don’t know what I came
here for, only that a dream slowly moves into position and
starts dreaming itself without any other aim than to let itself be
repeated as a possibility: A dictionary that wants its pages torn
out, blind earth that wants steps to vibrate below:
—translations by Anna Mette Lundofte