Refshale
island
The past seeks its survival
behind rows of houses, Christianshavn
Amager and a childhood can be seen
seaweed-coloured, headache-burst between wharfs.
The memory is aware of flying machines
the sense of colour black red
but the sea-sickness of unexperienced time
can hardly be eliminated.
Approach of punctured ships
tumour-possessed submarines
other surviving phenomena of exhaustedness
even the absurdity of the passage.
The usual flapping
interval silence in the water
an incontestable knowledge of people round the corner
the sentry about-turns.
Films never experienced and the future
experienced as a film
in the outside sector the feeling
of the stasis of time’s pendulum.
The echo of rivets is harsh on Sundays
suddenly one prays for the fin-possessed
greenness of muddy existences to announce itself
so we can get it all over.
Dock, crane, topmark buoys, putrescence
age itself nauseous
but the happiness of consciousness a turbo machine
before time, wing-flight and rejoicing pain.
The dates all one and immaterial
but the meeting in constancy:
the enormous windmill sails’ separating
underscoring of confrontation.
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