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short poem

die Bögen der roten Brücke
im Hafen neuen Yorks
hören Sie
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
gelebt durch den River-side
die kleinen weißen Gebete
könnten wir aber zu wissen
sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
ich habe das Rennen gewonnen
unter dem Erntemond
erklären Sie mir nicht
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen

 



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