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black poetry

sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
Liebe ist tausend Möglichkeiten gesungen worden
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
ich muß sagen gute Nacht
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
ich ging auf und ab die Straßen
ich bildete ein Versprechen einmal, eins nur
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter


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