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retirement poem

Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
blau-schwarze nubian zupfende Orangen
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
sind Sie wach?
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
im Hafen neuen Yorks
wie das Glätten fällt
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
wer den Wind nennen wird
grünes Nachmittagsserene und hell
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus

 



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