Tuesday, May 15, 2012

While waiting for my body to stuff itself
Hunched over its dish of stewmeat and its glass,
My spirit flew away: a celestial wolf
Trotting the heavens on its invisible paws.

[ … ] Meanwhile, on earth, my body was wiping the grease
From its muzzle. Drinking and eating too much made it heavy.
On the table before it, instead of the Golden Fleece,
Lay only a mess of bones in a puddle of gravy.

"Spirit," by Boris Christov, transl. Robert Pinsky.