for Peter Waterhouse

We pull ourselves up
and spit the muddy water
out of a young mouth
and cough the irritating water
out of an innocent throat.
The eyes don‘t see yet,
and are already looking for the helper,
who is standing above us
on a low and dry footbridge.
In a moment his arm will be there,
giving us hold, lifting us.
His laughing still impairs him,
he is laughing too loud
to be able to help.
In a moment we will stand beside him again
soaking wet and looking sheepish.

English version by Sapphire/Ramona Lofton