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thanksgiving poem

meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
läßt lang das Sommertageslicht glänzen
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
sind Sie wach?
ich brenne keinen Duft
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
gebildet vom loveliness alleine

 



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