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* * *
share with me
the daily bread of my loneliness
fill with your presence
the absent walls
gild
the nonexistent window
be a door
above all a door
which can be thrown
wide open




* * *
my lover is not that handsome
and he has quite a temper
but who will paint my sky
in the dark afternoon purple
if I let him go not to come back
my lover has burning lips
and a row of sharp teeth when with laughter
he replies to the challenge of the world
my lover has a mouth which rises
as a crescent over each of my nights
my lover is not tender his eyes
dance in the street's rectangle
he lights a flame in girls
clutching his shadow
I hold my love by the hair
in his shadow a frail blade of grass blossoms
into an April appletree



* * *
I think it's hard to write poetry
look how often it doesn't work for those
who should have succeeded
but I also think it's not easy
to take poison climb mountain tops
or swim across the English Channel
and yet all these are human achievements
that's why I dare one more time
* * *
this night - for you
and in the fuzzy cut-open
melon of night
its insides sweet and juicy
if my body does not shine
the star--paved road in vain
meanders across the irrelevant sky
and in vain the curved moon
looks deep into the earth
if my mouth does not mean light
then you will live all your days
with closed eyes

* * *
he said - he loved he said
now I live
in his smile
and trace
the shape of hips
as narrow
as the trunk of the young spruce
whose grace
I praised last night
before he
sowed singing desire
in my dancing hands
in my feet standing on tiptoe
in my teeth
I long
in great pensiveness
resting my chin on my hand
I think - about the skin
whose tart and
golden taste
I recollect