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mother daughter poem

Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen
die langen resounding Marmorflure
diese alte silberne SchĂĽssel von meinen
Glasbläser der Zeit
ihr schönes Haar
unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou
es gibt Gewinne fĂĽr alle unsere Verluste
Material des Mondes
ĂĽber dem FluĂź winken sie zu mir zu
eins nach dem anderen wie verläßt von einem Baum

 



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