Zajc Dane:
Southern Dreams
A wind from the hollows
strikes against the wall
A call from inland
which darkly rustles
a call which beckons no one
awakens you
Outside the shore slices the sea
branches fly up and flee with a blast
of matter
You stand like a stone which breathes
a stone which listens with the heart of a living thing
Wind with a pocked forehead
with a face of low voices near the ground
mad southern dreams dryly burn
his eyes
In the silent sky
three white seagulls alight from three stars
and fly on motionless wings
to the east
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