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religious poem

innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
sind Sie lebendig?
GlĂĽck
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
als weiĂźe Kerze
im September
warum dann, MuĂź wir? sieht
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
wenn ich zurĂĽck zu Masse gehe
vor tausend leisen Jahren
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
wer den Regen liebt

 



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