Thirty Poem by Stefan Hertmans
Thirty
She dreamt of a man out of wild silk,
a wise man who made her body and her
past catch fire, but the frail wisdom
of his body let her live
with a hunger for her counterpart:
someone walked across old parquet,
lovingly closed the windows,
undressed her quietly
and thoughtlessly laid her
on her side, to sleep for the nights
that bring no sumptuous hours.
Translation: Peter Nijmeijer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/7/2024 12:51:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
