maybe this is it: a third twist, a third force
resting amongst the body’s many bulges, the lobes of lungs,
a third cataract, the blood curled tighter; blood
flows faster here, falls further there, where things are good
the stillest lakes are found far flung
and not all animals look as they look in the books
and the banks can be green, can be steep, your axe meets
something soft, you find redness-deadness when you dive.
it’s not said it’s so; it’s simply said;
it’s certainly said, it is, it’s hazarded
it is; it’s hazarded, finally said and finally final!
stop it now! who said that? who’s grating?
stand up straight, who said that? who’s aggravating?
so, good, it’s the blood, is it? is it me, me finally?
Original © Carl-Christian Elze
Translation © Steph Morris