The Deer Poem by Tomaž Šalamun

Awe-inspiring cliff, white desire,
water springing forth from blood,
let my form narrow, let it crush my body,
so that everything is one: slag and skeletons, fistful of earth.

You drink me, draining off the color of my soul.
You lap me up, like a fly in a tiny boat.
My head is smeared, I see how
mountains were made, how stars were born.

You pulled your brow out from under me. There I stand.
Look, in the air. Within you, drained, all
mine. Golden roofs bend up under us,

small pagoda leaves. I'm in silken candies,
gentle and tenacious. I funnel the fog into your
breath, and your breath into the godhead of my garden, the deer.

Translation: Michael Biggins