Like fog upon the sea —
my broken bel étage
rig tattered, jib dislodged,
drifts quay to quay.
It cannot find a pin
there to tie its line, so
into the tidal flow —
and gone again.
How far the sound and strait,
how heavy harbor’s head
when now — no sail, no thread —
the fog awaits…
Poem: Gottfried Benn. Translation: Omar Willey.
