BIRDIE

A dead bird lives here

in a box of threadbare shoes.

 

It doesn’t take its last breath here

but keeps heaving, up and down.

 

Here that tangle

curled about that russet tongue

through the gullet right into that stomach

has not yet been seen

 

Here you haven’t pulled at anything

there’s nothing bleeding,

bare skin that is far from going cold.

Translated by Willem Groenewegen