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i miss you poem

weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich weiß nicht wo
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
hören Sie den Regen?
warum
wenn ein Brief für Freiheit erfolgt ist
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
unter dem Erntemond
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster

 



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