Gustaf Munch-Petersen: Towards Jerusalem

standing on the 10-

meter diving board

the rosy-lean girl

kisses from above the

ochre-yellow youngling,

who reaches his arms

from the stone basin –

she smiles hap-

py that she

lifts him towards her –

he cringes in

disgust that,

he supports

her, so that she doesn’t

fall –

. . . . he lets go,

and the rose drowns

like a fire-ice,

and the boy becomes

late-man and never forgets his own

colour –