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unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
noch dreizehn Jahre
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
mit den meek, braunen Augen
lassen Sie das reizende Wortunsaid
weich weinend
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages

 



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