From the lives of the archeologists Poem by Eugenijus Ališanka

We dug a long time
our spades sank deep into the sand
no sound sending a shiver
no explosion of imagination
we knew a town had been here
the roads of nomads and traders intersected here
one can see it clearly on the map
coins with profiles of emperors
crowns of bishops plague-infected bones
and other detritus for museums
did not interest us we had another task
we needed to confirm the version of the death of god
here the line of his journey broke off
according to one sect's apocrypha
we saw the signs of his creation everywhere
trees reiterated the forms of leaves
no doubt his hand traced the ice pictures
on lakes he and no one else
invented hexameter
everywhere sharp lines telling of unspoiled taste
maybe too classical
but apparently god had been everywhere
seeking to offer safety
and the death of such a creator
of perfection must have been perfect
completely regular a crystal polished
by the deepest meaning exactly that way we imagined the death
we talked about on smoking breaks
between shifts though no one dared
to ask what happens later when we find it
official annals claimed one should look for it
in heaven
in reality they just tried to mislead
to divert from the right way
every religion has its share of egoism
so-called esoteric teaching
our chosen way was earthbound
we believed that we were right
that we were not far from the death

Translated by Harvey L. Hix and the author