in these halls it comes to pass as on all
sinking ships of history: physics
and morals mean nothing to you.
what counts is keeping your own breath going
and - don't forget - that sign on the wall
(i've been here before), what counts
others have marked in the small aisles,
time is your own step on loose footing
(heading home) and legends about
what dwells beneath the corridor: metals,
electricity, water chilled in darkness,
falling, but don't be held back, in the room
a table awaits you, a chair + a bed + 1 stranger,
who got here the same way as you did. you
will lie there and lean yourselves with your
warm breaths against the encroaching
walls, in unison and behind another
hallway of history, on a sinking ship.

Translated by Bradley Schmidt