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footprint poem

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
ich sehe einen Stern heute abend
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
Blüten der Babys
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
welches hält
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß
Schatten legen entlang broadway

 



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