[cloudy sky. at the edge of the picture branches] Poem by Nico Bleutge

cloudy sky. at the edge of the picture branches
lie stretched across the water, the long fingers

reaching far beyond and holding the ocean
at bay. Seen closer

the horizon isn't smooth but subtly
ribbed, the light rebounds from the waves

always a little too early or too late, depending on
how quickly the eyes can focus

they run after the lustre, for the branches
that time span is quite sufficient, they stay soft

and firm in the skin, on the hands
the water builds up and the mist

soon blurs the contours, the small grooves
at the edge of the picture, the fingertips

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock