Another 'Galgenfrist' poem

 

Lapidary landscapes

i

a ship sails in the air

a gable is lit on the invisible

surface of the water

these low shores offer no resistance

this night is kindly disposed

ii

the late brush of the birch

against the icy sky, the silver sun’s

waxing eye

the poem is finished

iii

the steppe-grass whispers in a thousand telephones

directs the night wind with its waves

countersunk in itself the small eye

of the well stares hard at eternity

iv

like sticks in the fire

glowing

for a second still visible

this city no longer exists

v

even these corn-ears and stars

            these voices on the terrace

                        and clouds at bedtime

have other properties

            contain truths and threats

                        only temporarily hidden

(the distant blue harvest lightnings

            only hesitate, spare this:

a provisional state

            of mosquito song and bindweed)

far into the night, into oblivion

            i of course know it