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I stood in the river up to my knees and the river was cold The water filled my boots and made its way up through the fabric of my trousers towards my groin Soon I couldn’t feel my feet, and soon after that I couldn’t feel my legs The river sang and kept sing­ing I wanted to clamber out, but I stood still Pain rose and tried to encircle me, but I stood in the winter tor­rent and watched the pain and after a while it fell back again, back down into the singing water   Water came down from the clouds and sank through the black peat and passed over the granite and then went down through its channel to the sea The water that ran over my legs and feet would never be seen here again but the river never changed I climbed into the river in the early morning and I stood there until the sun was highest in the sky I let the water take my body away from me so that I could see what was beyond my body I let the river numb me and I under­stood that I had always been numb The sky opened a crack, but only a crack There was still something beyond that I could not touch   Water, thorns, rain, black soil All of the pain is an incident, a detail soon forgotten From the east I came, from the dead fens, because of everything that grew there, because of what was lodged in the dark waters I walked the streets, I sat on the couches, I passed through the sliding doors, I talked but never listened, I sold but never gave away Everywhere there were voices and I added my voice to them and we spoke out together and said nothing at all I became entwined in wanting, and it took me away from the stillness that is everything I say it here daily now like a prayer, like an offering: it is everything, it is everything,