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es war der Herbst des Jahres
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
aus dem Fenster heraus ein Meer der grünen Bäume
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-FaĂźraum
wenn ich sehr sicher war
lassen Sie nicht hören
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich sah die erste Birne
gegen die grĂĽne Flamme des WeiĂźdorn-Baums
eine Feder des Stahls

 



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