Zagajewski - Polish Poetry
Incorporeal Ruler
Who owns the earth, you
ask, astonished. By day it's conquered
by square-skulled men:
police. At night
we reclaim our homeland.
Who owns the leaves of the plane tree,
who tightens clock springs?
So many errors, with an incorporeal
ruler governing a tangible reality;
so many intermediaries, foxlike faces,
sly smiles, deceitful death.
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