Descent

We crossed the Styx.
The ferryman lay drunk in his boat.
I held the helm and we sank like stones.

Water like the earth consists of layers,
transparent ribbons, glistening strata
of ever less life, less warmth.

Bubbles blossomed in your hair,
the current tugged your head backwards
and stroked your throat.

Stones waved with arms made of algae and ferns,
gurgled softly, sang of ‘peace’.
They sliced your clothes away.

Fish licked the blood from your legs.
I held your hand tight. I wanted to comfort you,
but we were falling too fast and there are no words

that exist without air; my love
stayed above, blue balloons, brief buoys,
marking the site of the accident,

before flowing on. Your mouth fell open,
your face turned red, your hands sought
for balance, sought my arms.

You tried to climb me.
You were a glass blower with a cloud of diamonds
at his mouth. I held you like a kitten.

I stroked your fingers.
You did not let go.
You slept. and I stroked your fingers, let go.

[‘De val’, from ‘Hier is de tijd’, De Arbeiderspers 1998]
Tr: James Brockway and Esther Jansma,1998