I touch the water with my eyes.
It's still oppressively hot.
There is a lively splashing around in the small pool,
On the whole, the swimmers circle like heavyweights.
A child traipses past with a life-sized air mattress ice cream.
The boys' somersaults on the diving platform are the most beautiful.
They open up too soon and freeze there for a moment;
As a desperate risk in the blazingly bright air.
I'll watch you swim too.
In the water you are someone else, a suitor.
On land, a slave of a galley. (at your work)
Your dive turns into a single one, long swimming stroke, which cuts through the middle pelvis, deep and breathless, like a beaver or eel.
You shake yourself happily, and you say:
We got out of the water completely by chance,
come in too! Of, a pedant at the desk, who painstakingly folds the clothes, after he takes them off. Who also pulls these paths, but not in the water! There is itself in the water!
I say: No, the heat numbs me. No, I'm a clunker, who goes down, with a
Body of autumn. I, your spoilsport,
I hate the swimming pool!
We slide down the steps. Until your feet are free. The water surrounds me like cool sponge cake.
The surface, on which I carry you,
is as blue as your eyes, delicate and pebbly.
And then everything goes dark. Mosquitoes move
in the eyelashes. Heat now clings to cloud.
The anesthesia falls off me. I want to fall off the stone, which I soaked with my sweat. I'm scared, not being able to do it anymore, wants to run back to the summer.
You can easily carry someone in the water, on hands. By just touching him.
But something is now over.
The thunderstorm first. And then the melancholy.
(2.8.24)