at the threshold of reality

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: Towards Jerusalem

I was the king –

when I smiled,

everything sat in my ring,

which I could take off –

when I slept,

my beloved died,

and my enemies hardly

dared to whisper –

- - -

now I am a small star,

which has left its

clothes on the beach –

with closed eyes

and open ears

I swim calmly

on the sea-pupil of freedom –

with my long

saved legs I feel

every fold in

the trembling leading

mother-sleep of the sea

with the ten-thousand-year realm

in the relic shrine of the belly –

at the slightest current

I sink like a spark,

lighting the ocean

and melting the lock –

the slightest tremor,

and nothing has been in vain –