There was nothing to name, time
held its tongue. A dancing foaming
above dull thuds. The dark
hollow that neither lacked nor longed
became home to a boundless
being that grew, blind,
to the beat of my heart.
It was her. Wordless and free
to receive the soothing rhythm.
She listened to the rustling throb,
and heard, tucked up against it,
the hasty tick of her being.
by Anna Enquist
from Een kooi van klank
publisher: Stiching CPNB & Poetry International