Translated from Polish by David Malcolm
Night turned on its other side and now a new day –
a grey, sticky stain. The river a gnarled log that shreds the bank.
Some man crosses to the other side
on the old wooden bridge; he climbs like ivy,
wrapping his tired hands tight round the cold rail.
Any moment now it’ll get warmer and warmer.
Soon the trees will greedily start to drink the ground,
and people and animals desperately to hide
in shallow stains of shadow. Meanwhile the sun’s still low,
snuffles with its nose to the ground. Maybe it’ll find us?