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teen love poem

die kleinen weißen Gebete
so verloren
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
gegangen vor uns
der Himmel
ein dünner grauer Schatten auf dem Rand des Gedankens
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet

 



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