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grandmother poem

hören Sie
sie limps mit dem Anhalten des schmerzlichen Schrittes
seit, wenn Sie meine Seite heute bereitstanden
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
aller Tag zum Aufpassen der blauen Welle sich zu kräuseln und zu brechen
die Sonne ist oben
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu
welches ich erwähnen möchte
melancholische Tage sind gekommen

 



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