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IN SWITSERLAND
In Lusern dryf die witste swane
op die Reuss se glashelder turkoois
by 16de eeuse Barok dekor
voor sneeuberge verby.

In Lusern in die hotelkamer later
huil jy jy’s lief vir my
maar seks in ’n ouer verhouding
is moeilik vir jou net
te veel soos ou pantoffels,
soos gewoonte,
jy’s jammer, jy is rêrig lief vir my, maar
ek was al hier
in hierdie deurgetrapte ouwêreldse holte
in hierdie klankvaste plek
waar drome so vanselfsprekend
in leë eggo’s ontbind.
Ek het net nie gedink
dat ek saam met jou
hierlangs sou kom nie;
nooit werklik geglo
dat ek eendag met geleende groen oë
sou kyk na jou
soos ’n toeris sal kyk
na die koue poskaart-swane
van lieflike Lusern nie.
IN SWITZERLAND
In Lucerne the white swans float
on the glassy turquoise clarity of the Reuss
past 16th-century Baroque decor
and past snowy mountains.

In Lucerne in the hotel room later
you cry that you love me
but sex in an established relationship
is difficult for you a bit
too much like old slippers,
like habits,
you’re sorry, you really love me, but
I am already here
in this broken-down Old World hole
in this insulated place
where dreams decompose into empty echoes
so unremarkably.
I hadn’t thought
that I would ever come
here with you;
never really believed
that I would one day look at you
through borrowed green eyes
as a tourist looks
at the cold postcard swans
of gentle Lucerne.