CRUMBS Poem by VLADIMIR KOPICL

The crumbs lie on the table waiting to get dry
just in case the Unavoidable forgot to collect them.
The same with me, I speak to my left hand
while slowing the other hand down, the one which would rather work.
The speed does not frighten us as long as we cannot obtain it;
It is always with us, even when we are not around,
when we are absent, numb or asleep.
It never reaches us there.

Had I dreamt of the crumbs?
No, it did not happen, no significant loss here.
They always dry out, even at the bottom of the deepest sea:
This is what I was about to say, had it been correct elsewhere.
It is also good this way. I will remain seated a bit longer,
go to bed, let them collect me.
In this way we open the world which suffers no loss
as it was gained awhile ago so that it wouldn't crumble down.