Mariana Dan


I cut the air
and set out
on icy paths

between adam and ioan
between egg and sphere

with the air I cut words
and letters

and where I’ve made cuts
grow bird-legs
and bloody boots

on the right bank
and the left
of the danube
of ice

I cut night and winter,
cut sleep
which chatters on about life
without me

and listen to the yolk
drop by drop
from egg and sphere

sprinkling my lips
with unwords—

when ptolemy lived
the earth was as flat
as an open palm

now it has grown round,
and as you might say
we live longer than gods—

I cut the gods
and cut unwords as well

I set out on icy
with my legs worn to stubs
up to my wings