Excerpts from
She
By Juliane Preisler
As he bends forward, the light from the door
strikes through his body - evening blue, tiger yellow, he
reaches with his arm into a cupboard,
stretches, rises, is released, bouncing.
Toward his back she puts her face, burning,
her
arms wave toward an island of sun, wings like
shadows.
The door which breathes blows blue and gold
across their eyelids, in between their lips.
As he turns inside her a bowl falls to the floor - a
shiny, glazed depth of darkness, which stays whole
and vibrates against the floor, a small triumphant
sound of bliss, little fans in their eyes closing to
ward each other.
Translated by Poul Borum
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