— Homophonic translation of Rainer Maria Rilke’s “Das Lied des Blinden”
Itch. In bind. Here drowsy days in flush.
In wider will. In wider perch.
It was the glitch she wears.
Itchy leg. My hand. Often armed. Here for you.
Mine grew. Hand of her. Grass grow
and sigh for my itch. Dirt. Louder. The ears.
I hear your hurt. You under. Rocked under. Build touch.
I wander. You cling, all stain. Off stain.
A burr. I hurt you: all itch.
The bee un-delayed un-alarmed.
In more is an end. Loses screen.
Under itch was night, street more mine.
Her order. My good arm.
Ear can it hear the lie there? I hear. Sang it. Sigh. Night.
Night can sin. Day, buttoning.
Each commit. Say it more. Gain this new light,
warm in day often. Warning.
Under habit in the full guise. You guest. Itch,
under this, your light, your song.
Heather Salus is a high school English teacher whose work has appeared in Wicked Alice, Stirring: A Literary Collection, RHINO, Sycamore Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Chicago with her wife and their whole herd of animals.