We drink to the night.
To tradition. To the lake's
tinsel. To the goose bumps
crawling across our skin.
To the palest moon
I have ever seen.
To nostalgia.
To the tapering of trees.
To the hand's eye.
To the constellations
which fling themselves out
across the earth's ceiling
like a suspended dream.
To the lakeside.
To the water's edge
lapping the shore.
To your wet, wet mouth
covering mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lisa Zaran conducts her prosody with seductive elation, carefully weaving her words with an original voice. She is a representative for a new generation of talented poets, all of whom possess the gift of creating ardent beauty.