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fall poem

neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
gegen die grĂĽne Flamme des WeiĂźdorn-Baums
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
truely
aus dem tiefen heraus und die Dunkelheit
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
die Sterne fielen vom Himmel
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell

 



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