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grandmother poem

ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
umsponnen und gesponnen
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekühlt bin
in Ihrem Flug
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
ich halte Ihr Herz
hatten er und i aber getroffen

 



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