By Krystyna Dąbrowska

Translated by Karen Kovacik

Until recently the universe was expanding
with new suns, nebulas, constellations,
vibrating waves, the breath of galaxies.
Now it’s contracting to satellite
images depicting Earth:
not even the whole planet, just one country,
not even each region, just one city,
a single street, gray pavement. On it are strewn
“dark objects of similar size
to human bodies,” writes the New York Times.
Not buried for weeks,
their grave the satellite’s synthetic eye
and the black holes of our pupils,
surrounded by life.

Poet Bio

Krystyna Dąbrowska is a Polish poet, essayist, and translator. She is the author of Ścieżki dźwiękowe (“Soundtracks,” Wydawnictwo a5, 2018), Czas i przesłona (“Time and Aperture,” Znak, 2014), Białe krzesła (“White Chairs,” WBPiCAK, 2012), and Biuro podróży (“Travel Agency,” Zielona Sowa Publishing, 2006). See More By This Poet

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