The jumpers wake us after landing, laughing & packing their parachutes into tight bundles in the sloping field outside our window. So we turn
Translated from the German by Stefanie Ochel and Zack Rogow Do you hear it The ship’s horn is already sounding We have to leave
She fell in the street, strangers dodged traffic to reach the spot where she crumpled, a tree torn kite, a grounded star from Trieste
Sore-beshitted she was when the old Met was torn down, standing ghost-like by the rubble in her Madame Butterfly kimono as if anticipating her