CONVERSATION PIECE Poem by Stefan Hertmans

We spoke about folds in speaking,
fissures lifting in the paths of breath
because we stood in the winds of the world,
rocking and listening
whether perhaps a song was starting up in us,
something strong enough to stop us swaying.

But wavering in doubt we knew for
sure: it wasn't beneath us it was shivering
where our ears were nailed
to the ground, but in another
continent that rumbled deep inside us.
Words that we had not spoken
took over from our invitation to the dance.

Outside people are shouting at windows
and we, cautiously shuffling
each on his own globe, we
don't say anything at all but stare
our mouths wide open at the breakers
of all those outstretched hands
innumerable, floating gently in the gloaming.