Drift Ice Poem by Anneke Brassinga
Drift Ice
The shining mist already outlines shadows.
We pull up the water right to our chins
like sheets, so ripplingly cool and fresh-starched,
we come to be bedded together, forever entwined
in the gauze of times past, when peacefully
no word we gave to what binds us, sleep
of unmoored reason, towards dreamed-up monsters.
Translation: 2007, John Irons
Thursday, September 21, 2017
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5/13/2024 5:00:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
