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grandmother poem

die kleinen weißen Gebete
lassen Sie uns errichten
ich habe eine Furcht in meinem Leben gehabt
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
alter Wein zum Trinken
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
unter dem Helm des Warriors
als es
die Lattentagesdrowses auf dem westlichen durchtränken
Wille schimmern Sie auf dem Meer?
ich liege am Tabellenberg

 



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