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. 
Contributor’s notes: Tomas Tranströmer
Contributor’s notes: Patty Crane
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