The History Of The Soul
Disturbs By The Pictures.
In Skittish Depth Of Pupils
In Feverish Twinkle
In Heart Of Deep Night
I Hear Whisper Of Dead Leaves,
I Waste My Time.

I Can Distinguish A Leaf From Leaf.
Twitching Of Hands And Fingers
I Feel By Every Thought
In The Centre Of My Body
As A Bunch Of Dark Roots.
Translated From Croatian