We prepared a terrible death for you.
We left you to brawl with wild beasts.
We thought you were one of them.
We let you parry fangs with milk teeth,
claws with the shells of your soft fingernails.

Our prolongation,
pink thread
tangled up in life
a ball of hair, tendons
and pliable bones.

In the middle of a man-made
rain forest in need of water three times a day
so it won’t alter in the wilderness
from what it’s been up to now.

A calm unobtrusive moment
of entanglements. A leap into silence
only millions of cicadas
rhythming.

The last reflections of a six-year old:
Who cuts off the sun
even when it’s burning,
who never gets tired
pushing it over our heads?
Who drifts meteors
across the sky?

Is the world so, as I see it?
Am I really
who I think I
was?

 

Translated by James Sutherland-Smith