Translated by Michael M. Naydan
You always approached
this with suspicion
Mary
But here the udder of his heart
flows with the milk of pain
And you sitting beside him there
all night in the wind and rain
feel how your skin
becomes burned with the rust of doubt
You carefully look at
the scar from the disciple’s kiss
that reddens on his unshaven cheek
like the trace of a dull blade
And for a long time your hands
will have the scent of the gasoline
with which you burned our cities
