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autumn poem

ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
aus mir heraus unwürdig und unbekannt
Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
ich bete nicht für Frieden
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
das traurigste des Jahres

 



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