Thursday 17 February 2011

Poem by the Dutch poet Peter Swanborn

At the holding of her body, tight
like a child craving attention, but
then silent, turned inwards, I observe
how a life slowly falls apart

To dust, to sand, through my fingers, like
water in a river circulating, first up
from underground, then through land towards
the sea, the shore now still and red.

She cries, I comfort. With closed eyes
she looks at no one, grasps my hand,
slides like a ring the memory

Around my heart. A mind evaporates,
congeals and takes pleasure in another
body, transiently, till I too blow away.

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