BEFORE THE LEAP Poem by Willem Jan Otten

With August drawing to a close,
the bath attendant locked the cubicles,
biked whistling off into September.

So no one was around when I
stepped out onto the board. I was
blindfolded like a deserter.

These are the steps up dread tread dread.
On the high board of the Outdoor Baths
one flirts with the frisson of fear.

The sun was just as low as I and was
about to slowly sink into the ground.
Who had transported me aloft?

Oh dear love. And I knew: tomorrow
I will wake but no escape for me is
possible. From the highdive-dream

one wakes up with the highdive-dream.
I knew: it seems I'm going to go ahead.
The last small moves. I stand precisely

at the height required to feel afraid.
This is the right intended distance to
the loop-looming water, baptismal-soft.

It's always lain in wait for me -
so why abruptly do I fear the pool
as if it rapidly has drained away?

What if I dived like that - I do, I do -
I were to fall and nothing catch me?