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family poem

voll von den Rissen
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
meine zutreffende Liebe von ihrem Kissen stieg
Einfachheit
die Dichter sagen
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
ich liebte eine Frau
desolate und einsam
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch

 



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