Translated from the German by Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright

close your corporeal eyes, little one.
turn in the darkness
not towards the cellar stairs
not towards the secret place in the fence
hidden deep under the creeping ivy
where the wire is not
twisted around, but
legs are crossed slackly.
just keep your eyes closed, there’s
no one here. the laundry room lies before you
as if untouched, & what you
held in your hands like a shield
no one can make
out anymore, maybe
a toy, a camera

only the morello cherries so high on the tree
(not the air-gun
when the birds came here): these you
remember, otherwise they’re invisible.

Norbert Hummelt (b. 1962) is author of knackige codes (crackling codes, Galrev, 1993) and singtrieb (singinstinct, Urs Engeler, ed., 1997), a book with a CD. He lives in Cologne. (2000)

Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright is a translator of contemporary German poetry and writing. Her translations have appeared in journals including AGNI, Slope, and Seneca Review. (2010)