Fenland, evidence, descent and breakage.
Deeper incisions, but we talk, among
nests, over the veins, the leechings, the polish.

Caterpillar nest, shafts, brick and cast.
Not terra firma, not walkable, but I talk, among
the weaker evidences of earth, talk
softened by geology, a lightened chest.

Wooden gates, nights, a firmer grasp. No
narration, no pores, no lights, nothing
left to draw, nothing to drill for, nothing left
to salvage, nothing that bleaches dry.

Translation: Michael Hofmann