Schlachtensee

Schlachtensee

The winter flight now over,
I am bound for the frozen see.
Figures of Ice, gliding,
In the persistent evening chill
Change tack towards the station.
The heat sinking,
Through No Man’s Land
Past heaped snow
In to East Berlin & out again.
On middle Sunday,
Then habitually alone,
Aware of the island now
Its flirting scale and diving parts
A natural slope
Designed on high.
This is holy to aliens
Ay!, and metaphysical
Where gravity riddles.
At obscure daytimes,
When souls are notched,
Persuing the falling sun.
Languishing as the day’s palours began.
The shadow-less black swan,
Glides in then out,
Musing on the certainty:
Of leaving.
The bathers
Slowed down to a repose,
As others worked,
The waves brush strokes,
Of a picture.
From gloomy Sonnenallee,
To sweet water,
Then glide over to Rehwiese,
To find the border and gypsies gone.
Now the Wansee train,
Cuts the forest,
Like a fire sword.
Then there was no summer to speak of.
In mediums of light and air,
In lines under, on - Above.
In the vertical Sacrow forest.
To winter swimming in the black night.

Rewritten 11th December 2008