by Ingeborg Bachmann
When the swing board the seven hills
kidnapped upwards, it also slides,
weighed down and embraced by us,
into the dark water
dives into the river mud, up to our laps
the fish gather.
It's our turn
the hills are sinking
we rise and share
each fish with the night.
Nobody jumps off.
It is so certain that only love
and one exalts the other.
Last updated October 31, 2022