Last day in the south Poem by Monika Rinck

we shall inject you a substance into
fixed on this bench in this vacation home
look here, how your brow is shining
o - the temples resplendent in the silent
reflection of the white lampshade
how lovely you are, how good and
unexpected the light,
a ray running through your vein
sand in the dark chamber nestles
radium—your little green fear.

everywhere, with all the others, do visions stir
but not with you. with you everything is
clear and defined, the napkins, the cacti.
everything there in the broken glass of the last night
figures of desire, the delicate froth
here the lord our god himself with his tongue
hast loosed thine, and you, speaking, ‘so beautifully'
of the pharmakon, of the waggling sycamores
and they're already at the door,
those shoes that we have,
the bags of trash and the passat.

Translation by Mark Kanak