Journal, Lago Momentane

our arrival was catastrophically fine,
the sky picturesquely colourless, the present
like a precise body of water.
we collected gods and purified
them (of necessity) until late at night. the air
was inevitably large. there were sung beasts,
phenomena of peculiar panicle.
most of it looked possible.
we felt conspicuously now.

Ron Winkler
translated by Iain Galbraith