In a star's halo of light, in the shadow cast by
my language, I walk across a dark mirror,

lagoons, ponds of salt water that cannot drain
away, focussed on no perspective. I see

nothing happening but shifts … vague,
on a child's hand, his index finger,

his newly-found name: is there something about his place?
Waves crushing upon themselves, imitate one another

by inventing themselves, by giving what they receive,
antiphony of the tide, tight-lipped about the shore. You must

place cold quartz on your forehead in order to think
as clearly as venus shells and algae.

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser & Gabriel Rosenstock