The evening draws near; I lay myself out.
Solace is sought in preservative wine
and much is found. The same as dregs

I descend to the bottom of the glass,
where I sleep restlessly.
Unwanted sediment is mine.

The windows, tender holes;
the fall, well-nigh the same as jumping; and so thirst,
the insatiable, which taunts and comforts us, remains.

Translation: 2004, Willem Groenewegen