Jaroslav Kalfař SPACEMAN OF BOHEMIA

For my grandfather Emil Srb

A house in ruins. Through the cracked walls

spread gluttonous ferns,

and the parasitic bands of lichen.

On the ground sprouts delphinium,

a nettle forest. The poisoned well

a water trough for rats.

The frail apple tree, split by lightning,

forgets whether it once bloomed.

On clear days, singing goldfinches

fall into the ruins. On sunlit bright days

a clock’s arc lives

on the facade, capricious and joyful

the shadow of time dances,

and recites solemnly to the skies:

Sine sole nihil sum.

For everything is a mask.

—Karel Toman, “The Sun Clock”

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