It’s my constellation
It’s shaped like a hand
It’s my own hand high in the sky
All through the war through a gap I saw Orion
The Zeppelins that came to bomb Paris always came from Orion
Today it’s above my head
The long pole pierces the palm of the hand that must suffer
As my severed hand makes me suffer pierced constantly by a spear
Translated by A.S. Kline poetryintranslation.com