You see the
rush of snake
like a warrior's living belt
the cows'
milk in tall vases
which
hedgehogs cannot reach
who owns
that voice
which
regenerates happiness and joy
what do we
really understand
when what was held so close escape.
Death to
the black crow.
Death to the black crow.
Death to the black crow.
We have heard
the last cry of the crow
the key of clouds at our feet
mighty
music squeezes the notes together
who then
knows the innermost silence
who then
gives birth
what holds
us together
when the
last black crow youngster is dead?
No comments:
Post a Comment