Sedge stands over the land, stands
suspended, quite still. Sedge stands,
I hear nothing, in the light, you still
see pewter-grass and wattle
to your left, and weight. Questions
echo in the sedge, the clouds above,
the face, even the breathing is
implicated in the talk. But the state
of the sedge, as of the implication,
remains uncertain. The dust,
the smell, the sedge, bows down,
you speak, it stretches far into
burning April, I see nothing.

Translated by Michael Hofmann