Jaan Kaplinski: *** (poem in Engish)

***
The ship glides north. It’s the only
sign, mark on the boundary between sea and sky,
that’s vanishing into darkness and fog. Lighthouses, beacons,
each of them speaking with its own voiceless voice. The sea’s breathing
in the rhythm of night waves. We breathe
in the same rhythm as the sea, we
fleas, bugs, parasites of the ancient sea,
fungi grown out of soil, who’ve now
spread our filaments into earth, wood and air.
I don’t want to shut the window. I lie
with eyes open, thinking about the prints of birds
on wet sand and about Death, who once upon a time
rode here in an old peasant carriage. I don’t know
whether he or his carriage left prints
anywhere other than in dreams and legends.
If there were any, could we recognize them?
Could he recognize us?

Translated by the author and Fiona Sampson
(source: Vilenica Almanac 2001)