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lost love poem

unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
aus dem Fenster heraus ein Meer der grünen Bäume
wer den Wind nennen wird
Bruder, bin ich Feuer
singen Sie wieder dem Song Sie gesungen
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
ich weiß nicht wo
hohe Wände und sehr groß
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
Stern-Staub und vaporous Licht
auf und an
Bewegung Ihres Körpers ist wie Musik
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit

 



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