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family poetry

aber ich kann nicht Sie jetzt lesen
ich halte Ihr Herz
traurig sprechend
wir legen
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
die langen resounding Marmorflure
und noch gingen sie an
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
die kleinen weißen Gebete
über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr

 



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