sedona

the sun set the stones on fire
they baked in front of his fury for ages
they patiently bended his anger
till the calmer days came;
the wind blew hard his lungs out
strong as the need for change in spring
unwillingly he peeled the fragile layer
of plants when he did so;
but they waited unclothed for warmer days;
the rain washed the composting remnants
in her attempt to forget the thirst of the summer,
and left them looking like new

and now they just lie, with their rounded backs
their bones strong, and somehow still ready to crumble
the unnecessary bits if one of the Gods demand sacrifice
pure, and red, and barren for most
awaiting whatever elements come their way
with the forehead up high, facing the sun
the rocks of Sedona

resilient like the prayer of an old man
fresh like the hope of a child
beautiful like adolescents
ageless they seem
the red rocks of Sedona

The soul of the village
 Lucian Blaga

Girl, put your hands on my knees
I think eternity was born in the village
Here all thoughts are slower
And your heart pumps more seldom
As if it were not beating within your chest,
But deep down underground.
Here can be healed the thirst for redemption
And if your feet are bleeding
Just sit on humid ground.
Now that the evening comes
The soul of the village flies nearby
Like the aroma of freshly cut grass
Like smoke rising from the straw roofs
Like a dance of young animals on high tombs.

translated from Romanian by Alexandra Badea