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christmas poetry

sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
so verloren
was wir jetzt tut
hoch-getragenes Rennen
steigender Mond hat die Sterne versteckt
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
und so geht sie
meine zutreffende Liebe von ihrem Kissen stieg
Material des Mondes
welches hält
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
alter Wein zum Trinken
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin

 



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