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family poetry

da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
voll von den Rissen
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
die alten Songs
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
und mit dem Summenvogel
aber ich kann nicht Sie jetzt lesen
Massentravails
Wille schimmern Sie auf dem Meer?
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse

 



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