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birthday poem

Töchter der Zeit
was wir jetzt tut
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
oben auslösen, unten fallend
burly, DösenHumblebiene
es gab ein strangeness auf Ihren Lippen
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
Material des Mondes
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
und so geht sie
ich bin alt und blind
ich bin fevered

 



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