Silke Heiss
The thin man steps
onto a black branch jutting in
to the water. Balances,
opens his arms, brings
his wrists slowly together,
twists something in his fingers:
ties the invisible
to the invisible, and casts –
casts the invisible line,
jerks, pulls it back in,
twists and ties again, and casts
his visions again
to the water.
Through a gap in the bushes
is the mongoose, whose tiny tracks see
what I mayn't intrude onto:
a prayer, a preparation –
a ballet, silhouetted in black,
against the horizon
– a Kirlian pantomime
of fishing.
–14th May 2020
Featured on 4 February 2021