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poem

die Sterne fielen vom Himmel
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
obwohl Lieberepine und Grundscheuern
möglicherweise
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
lassen Sie das reizende Wortunsaid
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
erinnern sich Sie

 



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