Pill boxes, patrols, protocols: this is what made the locals come running, so nothing should be disturbed. Softly, softly, we thought. That graveyard needs moving further south: chop it up among urban allotments, carve out wide boulevards and tunnels, erect viaducts, excavate canals, launch speedboats, ferries, hovercrafts and junk the heritable past; let the map heave with bulldozer silhouettes, he said (lighting a corner of the map) for this shall be our theater of war. And then what? Unlock the fog. At twilight only a boy’s quick laugh in a blind back alley shall echo that time shift of desire all lost in space beyond their dreams.

(Translated from the Polish by Rod Mengham)