A Bath Before Bed

If I pull back, because I can’t stand
how pain can only recognize more pain,
it will come after me, dark and shivering
with a power I feel even now: this rhythm
one part peace and one part desire,
tempo made in the image of prayer
will find me, will be looking for me
in a town without a name,
where beggars and sinners
who want to be children again
are chased away, the watchman
shooing me from the fountain.
My throat is dry, I understand
even less than before. Less and less
that a piece of the past
is alive even now in some cellar
below the mind, carrying on
like an oath to the secret
that makes me rinse your back,
up and down, this stroke is familiar,
a damp cloth over your hips,
the soapy water rising to steam
and softening me like clay
that works and in its joyful task
is done. Today, at least,
a tiny grace is mine.

Aleš Debeljak

Translated from the Slovenian by Andrew Zawacki and the author