You are getting closer.
I hear the crunch of sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
boots. The scent of tanned leather stings
my nostrils and fingers of steel butterflies
inflict fresh flesh wounds.
Your feathered crop gently brushes my shivering
shoulders, it floats over proud bones luring me
to the killing fields.
With no where to hide nothing can save me.
You have always known how to break wild horses.
The earth glistens with rosettes of snow
the sun still rises in myriad hues
Nightingales seek refuge in barren trees
to mourn February’s last refrain.
Contrails light the wings of birds
that flit beneath lit sills of doors
settle softly into winters chill
shelter in a pale blue bed
Translation by Bernd @ Neues Vom Hutschi
I can scarcely bear the splendor of the world.
It’s wonder humbles the wisp that is me.
Minutiae of eyes and speechless tongue
astounded by the promise of a sunrise.
Elegant trees lift their mottled arms
flecked with leaves of gold and green
an ancient cache of living things
To be a winged bearer of no possessions
a flicker of color in the highest tree.
I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns
My hands are good for nothing but
a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle