(Translation: Paul Vincent)
Boats wear beards under water,
strands of seaweed and algae, slowing them down
as if there were growing there wilfully beards of
lost fathers, who never once heard: Dad, you did it Well-
shaved keels cleave razor-sharp
fast. Boat beards never reach ocean beds or become so long
that whoever spies them diving needs
gills. For everyone it is a different delightful walk
– for me along this weathered quay – for which each
of us paid the price of not having
gills.
