The Word’s Color Change

Open, the sea appeared asleep.
Carrying its waves.
A pulse under the muted winter scene.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

A nun-spot on the hot little body.
A color on the broken glass.
An early closed gesture.
Lovely as the sea retreated.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

I wanted to remain an object.
But, no, immortality is not mine.
I can defend myself.
Waiting for punishment.

This and the same happened together.
Silently, I sat in the glass.
Only the spot wandered on naked scene.
Sounds did not continue.

Only an omitted gesture.
Happiness like an unmoving dancer.
Beatings on naked boned back.

And the sea no longer immortal.

(Translated from the Hungarian by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth, and Martha Satz)