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poem for pastors

wir legen
ich bot sie aller Abschied
sind Sie wach?
sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschütztes loveliness
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
wie das Glätten fällt
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
erklären Sie mir
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
in Ihrem Flug
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums

 



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