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fall poem

Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
sie sprengte fierce Wein
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
Bewegung Ihres Körpers ist wie Musik
alle beruhigen entlang dem potomac
hören Sie
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen

 



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