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missing you poem

er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
lassen Sie hören
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
um Mitternacht
aller Tag zum Aufpassen der blauen Welle sich zu kräuseln und zu brechen
diese alte silberne SchĂĽssel von meinen
ich sah die erste Birne
der Schnee whispers ĂĽber mich
die Dichter sagen
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschlieĂźenden Betts

 



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