Herbert List: Goldfischglas, Santorin 1937
They just left
me alone. And
I deeply inhale the silence
around me:
weightless.
A paralyzed gliding.

Look up to the flickering surface.
How it mirrows away
the merciless transparent
walls.

They'll be back, the piercing
eyes, the noise and I love you's.

Blowing a bubble
should prove
I’m alive.
It will rise to the surface
and pop.

They’ll wonder
once more why
I don’t suffocate.

Well, sometimes I am.

Michael Bruchner
4 -1990

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