A clot of color falls from the widow – to the scaffold to the scaffold. For when the cat comes to bed with its claws, when the fledgling chokes over the canal, the lizard wakes with a new tail, which really is no good – it gets light. Cover yourself with dark
up to the eyes, you crumb, go into town, into the world – look around a bit. On barges and rivers, coffee is drunk now, on the lawns ritual spreads. You will not catch yourself out – nothing can be undone. Look – it’s all gone, some rains,
books, clocks, some drownings in the bath, fingers round the throat. To be in your own place now in a city full of strangers, to look on as the boy with too long eye lashes longs to take someone’s hand, but doesn’t reach out - and not to have any sympathy at all.
To carry a well with you, best a handy-sized one.
To use it according to need.
To get rid of it according to dreams.
Translated by David Malcolm