Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1
translation by Patty Crane

A Sketch from 1844

William Turner’s face is browned by weather;
he’s set up his easel far off in the breaking surf.
We follow the silver-green cable down into the depths.

He wades out in the long shallows of death’s kingdom.
A train rolls in. Come closer.
Rain, rain travels over us.  end