Witnesses at the threshold Poem by Erik Lindner

1. Birds tilt at millsails
no longer whirling

barking by the houseboats
chains drag through the gravel

cartwheeling like clockwork
high in the sky

rainwater in a pool
on the lorry roof

the light of the swaying lantern
over the row of doorbells

the gallery round the tower
its guardrail slanting outward

a river sinking away
into a marshy field.


2. A plastic bag slides off a branch

and floats down onto the market
where a girl is crouching to brush her hair
the key-fob clenched in her mouth
the teeth of the key pricking her chin

on the stage bouquets in a pail

two legs together, one
raised higher than the other

the black bird in the field
beside a tall dark tussock of grass

a shepherd resting his chin on his stick
as the flock dreams around him.


3. Horses teaching their foals to run
the horse trotting the foal cantering
the horse walking the foal trotting
past the tape in front of the fence
into the corner of the paddock

a dragonfly hovering over the water

rain splashes up from the paving
the garden hose chicanes through the grass

a bird hops onto the edge of a garden tub
above the bricks laid out in arcs

sunlight traces a line down the corridor
and casts a windowpane onto the wall

the sprinkler sprays across a treetrunk
the mower snags against its cable.


4. Witnesses at the threshold we are
the candle burning in broad daylight
the orange under the bulge in the window

the sorcerer's apprentice holds out a hand
for his bride, the motionless cape, chandelier,
the green dagging on her sleeves

faithful as the dog guarding them
the brush on the chairback
the broom against the seat

we are witnesses at the threshold
no-one can hear them
and yet it somehow still gets through.

Translation: Francis Jones