A Woodpecker at Work

A Translation: "Prayer" by Boris Hristov

The fog clothes the way like a greatcoat with its long sleeves hung low.
I wear the coat too, tailored just to my size,
and I pray -- do not forget anybody this night,
God, as you pass on the road in your white carriage.

Give each poor man the ease to wake with the noon sun in his hair
and money to the miser, though it will never lighten his day.
Let the dwarf find every honey barrel next to a stair,
and the actor find his next performance in an acclaimed play.

Invite the poet to dinner, fill his belly and pen,
and give his horse oats with each poem.
Sit with the lonely man in his long wait,
and sneeze for the ill as they doze.

Choose a new life for the executioner,
and crush the hungry tick who brings the girls dread.
Fasten the children's seat belts as they sleep on the plane,
and walk the tired old man to this bed.

Give the dead man a night cap and a peaceful book,
and make an oasis for the tree at the corner of the street.
And for me -- help me home this night
to wash, God, my mother's tired feet.