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prose poetry

der Schnee whispers über mich
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
wie das Glätten fällt
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben

 



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  • Writers' rooms: John Mortimer - guardian.co.uk
  • Former US poet laureate Louise Glueck receives $100000 prize - Baltimore Sun
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