Evo nas opet kraj drveća.
Avanturista i istraživač
hvališe se brodovima punim bibera, retkih začina.
Iz džepića na prsluku
vadi pričljivu glavicu krompira,
postavlja je ispred oka i škilji kroz nju
ka suncu,
kao da gleda kroz dragi kamen.
Vidim kako se umnožavaju moje slabosti,
kako rastu moje maloumnosti
kao anemična deca.
Dobijam na poklon neznanje veličine malog konja.
Drvo je, obašnjava istraživač,
jednom progutalo vreme
koje se zaglavilo pobočke,
kao kost u grlu.
Nerođeno, raste unutra napinjući
beočuge godova do pucanja.
Za to vreme,  
u gradskom parku radijatori
šire rebra kao paunovi.
Kada dođe taj trenutak, kaže, 
drvo će se rascepiti napola,
radijator će vešto prekinuti
konac zubima.
Kada dođe taj trenutak
kupatilo će se povući u sebe,
zaridati svim pločicama tako obilno i jako
da će u opštem klizanju
korisnici kupatila,
mali i kompaktni civili,
gubiti život u davljeničkom metežu.  

I dream of my father: he is sitting in an empty room, cigarette in his hand, veiled in a cloud of white smoke. I am dumbfounded – he quit smoking some thirty years ago after a heart attack. I ask: “You started smoking again?!” “No”, he answers looking straight at me, “this is Holy Spirit.”

My father has been designing books for close to sixty years. He is 84 and still burning with this passion, still showing up daily for his work. I see him in his workshop, leafing through one of the books. There is this ridiculous stuffed parrot over his head that has been there for decades and some religious paraphernalia on the table, icons and candles – he became increasingly attached to religious iconography and ritual with advancing age. I think of the dream and make the photo. I know the title even before I start “Holy Father, Holy Spirit”.