for Harry Mulisch

The city opens up its windows wide
not to miss a sound.
A song rides by on a bicycle
and gives each house a note.
My friend lives on a canal.
The steps of his well-situated
house were designed by a snake
charmer trained in the colonies:
when you stepped carefully,
you hear almond-shaped sighs.
Occasionally an old ship sails
through the salon whose captain
piles papers on the window sill
medieval treatises
about enlightenment and magic,
but completely normal life stories, too.
When my friend looks out the window
the city reduplicates itself.
In the twilight the classics
step off the shelves and begin to work,
a dog serves them with cheese and wine.
And at night an angel carefully sweeps
the path between water and doorstep,
as if trying to clean one of the four
rivers to paradise.

Translated by Bradley Schmidt