KIOSK BY THE SEA Poem by Durs Grünbein

Freedom - and the traffic carried on. The idea
Had taken hold en route. A tub of concrete
Standing at the end of the pier, no one knew why.
Kiosk by the sea, this was it. In the window

Blue-tinged postcards of faded summers.
How did we end up here? Because of the sea?
Who of us can say they are the same after years
Of egomania? The swifts sleep beyond the clouds,

Or that's what the stories say. But what comes next?
I'm sorry, we hardly knew one another. And time
Was not something to be conserved, like nature.

Is the sand disappointed when evening falls?
We talk, blinking, as we sit by the fire.
If you see it, give it my regards. Say hello.