just this single "picture"
was rea l. I "did" that
and later, when I was finished
just this "movement" remained .
Seen too closely, the details
disappear and become "angst."
Translated from the German
by
Mark Terrill
SOPHIE CABOT BLACK
The Climb
I will be done with mountains. Let
The subsequent come, the fallen stone.
Let blazes heal, let erosion. Having marked
Certain places, it becomes easier to rest
On the way back down. What name to leave
This flower (or keep nameless), what small rock
To bring back to where I will write you
Of how it was, getting whatever remained
Up to the place we thought highest. The mountain
Does not move; nothing I can say
Will move it. Beyond are only more mountains
Conspiring as if to break free. And I could not hear
For the noise of breath; each finger uncurled
And one blue flower where trees refuse to live.
