rain made for itself its sea and the sea its waves, clouds
swelled over the white spray of the sea - light tones -
and like dust on the tape track everything mixed in together
the voices, whispering, emerge from yesterday, from its
dead conversations, woven into the moiré of swelling
...sw...elling interference, whither the wind goes, whether it simply
whips up, whistles up, settles again, rises mild or light, rustles
like mistles or ash grey falls silent in grey - a hand movement
when as though after a long illness all simultaneities were to end
all squalls change tack reared up questions casually be raised

translated by Catherine Hales