On a desert island
hope took hold of N.
he began to wave and call out
and throw leafy branches in the fire
and as if by a miracle

on a desert island
a flock of Nováks dressed as castaways
cropped up 

On a desert island
they began to wave and call out
and throw leafy branches in the fire
and didn’t give up

until with their own hands and voices
they beckoned the wind
which fanned their leafy fire
as if by a miracle

And as if by a miracle
on the desert island
full of castaways 
hope took hold of N.
 

Watercolor Self-Portrait

Some kind of city
inside a city
some kind of  house
inside a house
some kind of head 
inside a head
rain
inside rain
nothing

Some kind of nothing
 

Another Tale about the Great Way

Wherever he walked N. sought
some way.
“Don’t seek the way, seek the destination,”
a person said to him.
“Don’t seek the destination, find repose,”
a stone said to him.
“Don’t seek the destination, seek open space,”
the wind said.
And the wild birds flew by, the ones
who fly away and return, as well as the ones
who fly away and don’t,  
and they called out from overhead:
“The destination is the way!”
“Don’t you believe them,” 
the domestic birds, who are prudent
which is why they walk in the dust,
cried out from below.
 “The destination is the spot right where you’re standing!”
“Really?”  N. was overjoyed after so much wandering.
“Don’t be overjoyed,” the earthbound birds said,
“After all, everybody knows we have wings.”
And they stretched out their wings and the wind picked up and…
“You push off, too,” the wind said.
“Your destination is waiting for you where you deserted it.”
Since then, wherever our N. walks 
there he mulls over where and which destination he has deserted
and is even more lonesome.