Stirring slow or faster in the night
dread silence, found in sleeping cities
where virgins shyly dance before their mirrors,
nur ohne Licht,
turning to intense inspections, soft
as murmurs passing windows, briefly heard
from strangers never seen, somewhere bound,
der Fluss fliesst,
pausing only for reflections on a mighty bridge
light, gauze yellow or unholy white, bursting
into calmness, when ships cease disturbance.
Hörst du mich?
Motions of crossings in the final journey,
halts. But stirrings slow or faster, move
in unfelt currents, changes, untouched by dawn.
Diese Zeit, fremd.
for a translated version of the story, click here
words: Gary Beck, New York
painting: Ira Joel Haber, New York (online gallery)