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dark poetry

sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
aber alas, gerade Träume
dunkel-eyed
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
ich mag es
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer

 



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