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christmas poetry

in können Sie
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
ich liege am Tabellenberg
ich brenne keinen Duft
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
unter dem Erntemond
gibt es jedes dort
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
wenn ich zurück zu Masse gehe

 



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