Pilgrimage

I go with my father's staff in my hand
My burning heart on the staff

My footsteps murmur the letters
Which the holy road writes out

I trace them in the sand with my staff
Before sleep
At every hospice

Lest they be wiped from my memory

I am still far from guessing
Their meaning
But they look like the constellation Wolf

No empty nights for me
If I get home safe and sound

--Vasko Popa

tr. Anne Pennington
fr. *Earth Erect*
[London: Anvil Press Poetry, 1973]