They began to come upon from time to time small cairns of rock by the roadside. They were signs in gypsy language, lost patterans. The first he’d seen in some while, common in the north, leading out of the looted and exhausted cities, hopeless messages to loved ones lost and dead. By then all stores…
No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one’s heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I…
„După ce-a murit [tata], l-am visat de două ori. […] În al doilea [vis] se făcea că ne-am întors amândoi în vremurile de odinioară şi eu eram călăre pe un cal şi mergeam noaptea prin munţi. Mergeam printr-o trecătoare prin munţi. Era frig şi pe jos era zăpadă, iar el a trecut pe lîngă mine…
The days sloughed past uncounted and uncalendared. Along the interstate in the distance long lines of charred and rusting cars. The raw rims of the wheels sitting in a stiff gray sludge of melted rubber, in blackened rings of wire. The incinerate corpses shrunk to the size of a child and propped on the bare…