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autumn poem

während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
diese sind
lassen Sie nicht hören
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
die kleinen weißen Gebete
wer der Läufer in den Himmeln ist
O angemessen und stately Mädchen, dessen Augen
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
der Blitz blitzte und hob an

 



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