my hand is a dead fish in the morning
it drifts on your chest
sideways the night made
a heron take wing

my eyes two swinging canoes in
the short waves of daylight a dead
fish lies on your chest like an alp
like a fish out of water you gasp twitch
back from the brothers the one
is called sleep they
paddle with strokes in unison they
tie sparkling strings for everyone
drop for drop into the river

my hand is a dead fish
in the morning silver the scales in the rushes
uncaught it swashes on your chest
on the bank the rushes bide their time

Translated by Bradley Schmidt