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László G. István
The Lake
As if the water were of bone,
its spinal arch, rib, shoulder blade thickened
into a body by the current of waves.
I cannot swim in this, I said.
Nobody sent you, never allured you.
The sharpness of the sun, a disk tattooed
on the sky, beamed from a deeper blindness.
No need to submerge, the surface is calm –
the lake, like a secret too soon disclosed,
became boring and simple. I knew
it would taste sweet, yet in my mouth
the rock salt started cracking like popping candy.
So how many heads you have? Someone asked.
So how many? Just one. Then plunge alone.
As if the water were of bone – on it
the shadow of my head-on dive, an X-rayed fracture.

Translation: Geher István