Having a stare-down,

as if the other is wrong --


sitting on your seat.

I'm sitting at the table, maybe
sleeping, I think for a second
at the blare of a siren
that takes along the smell
of puffed chestnuts from my nose
to an emergency

In the kitchen I see
the cat looking expectantly
and the clouds pass swiftly
past the drowsy sun
We're going to play soon
first I make coffee

High and low the boiling
water and the traffic rustle
my eyes shut, I feel
the cold under the arid air
of autumn, it will take long
before spring comes

She is arranging

the flowers, he likes it, then --


she throws them away.

After the crossing

I've tea with the ferryman –


no need to travel.

I was floating in

the sea of your eyes, they led --


me into your port.

Mama went to work
we stayed at home
could not get out
snow, no shoes

silence everywhere
fear of the police
and suppressed madness
which strangles desires

without killing them
impossible love
only the daily potatoes
hoping for a piece

of the repeated promises
for us, the children, and now
that we are no longer children
for our children

Rustling lanes, winding roads
the rippling on the bank
of the path along the river

wherever the land is not buried
under city, I walk my days
in the smell of rotting

Mushrooms, spider webs
birds in the undergrowth
and dearest to me are the wild
flowers, thistles, chicory
pink anemones and poppies

I admire the gaunt, the sallow
the beauty under
the beauty of
the scars, the life
they pass on

They all sympathise

and write their best intentions --


to put in the urn.

Cold rain being blown

under my hood, the shelter –


of the mosquito.

Girls tease each other,

just to attract attention --


from the toughest boys.

He starts
cautiously
with small steps

warms me up, back and forth
prolongs his leg, goes
from minuet to pavane

strides old-fashioned deeper
adds quick pushes
then unchains himself
      
from allemande to courante
and leads me into the sixth heaven
slowly flying there sarabande
      
around with me, in expectation
enjoying
each other and longing
      
for the delayed presto
touch on the sensitive strings
ending on the highest note

I want to go there or see a movie
about it: the steppes

the jungle, the Himalayas
I want to shine my light
in trenches, I want to know

everything, made manageable
so that the whole world becomes mine
and I become a true citizen of the world, no
I want more, be a cosmo citizen

between spirits, angels and gods
exist forever, I want to experience

space adventures, but near
home, because I already am so tiny
a minor matter, a speck on mountain

or sea, interchangeable in the crowd
I don't want to relativise away
my efforts, not to be completely
invisible in universe and time

The harbour: the quays


are like a flat sea, the ships --



are walls of iron.

Mother shakes her head,

she has a different view --


of my path in life.

Sun on the roof edge,

underneath we sufferlead --


our cold shadow lives.

Too bad, halfway through

my working day I am stuck --


with the word puzzle.

Rainy days mud
my garden, the golden root is rotting

my wishing well spills over
I am spent

flaccid roads to the city
get me nowhere, no one wants

to pay for that, the world stands still
my little son is sleepwalking around me

by touch, cow and calf look
at me and frown, sighing

vapours muffled by the fine droplets
of rainy tears on the globes of my eyes

the sachets of water in which the world
always is upside down

a violet hangs and thinks:

mud will become waterproof
slate, eventually

Happiness drugs you

until it vanishes like --


expensive perfume.

Every time I think

what my mother would have said --


Yet, do I know her?

It has already been two weeks
since we wrote to each other, rejoiced
weaving springs into a poem

about love in which we mix ourselves
with the candour of a friend
and our need for being connected

You rhyme with me
into an ethereal love, we create
daisies in waving fields

with kissing gates in the hawthorn
the golden keys shine
upon our hearts

Come in and play, dance
blind man's buff, reach and touch
each other's soul

I am a thinker:

although, can I think away --


sedimented thoughts?

Divine help is for

young people, and then they have --


to do it themselves.

The light at the end

of the tunnel is my hope:


heaven anyway.

Foreigners test us:

are we really as caring --


as we think we are?

It is night, I walk

across the metropolis --


which denies the night.

Nothing goes to hell

with a big bang, it always --


happens with moaning.

Day to day I live

eternally, in moments --


of time that passes.

My memories are photos
that life rushes over
from white to dark
night to day
feelings
already vanished
in black
or blanched
in the bright sun

Snapshots of the earth
frozen, still fleeting
by the rapid spinning
in the eternal sky
of time
from white to dark
night to day
to past, past
past forever

Stay, no promises,

just stay, stay with me tonight --


with my lovesickness.

It just keeps growing

and fills up the living room --


that you are not there.

He is not a spy

and not a child, just silly --


with his secrecy.

Have I been playing

that I match you, did you play --


that you are my friends?

I'm a servant, I give -- space
to inspiration and objections
I fill myself with wishes
and pour them out into decisions
until contentment flows over

I don't hear complainers complain
but encourage, so they never get
lost in expectations

The profits is just a balance
of round-off differences
expenditure becomes income
in the space -- of the living together
where everyone is in the middle

of nowhere special, nowhere people
everywhere, on their way to nowhere
because they are already there

The mosquito smells


blood, she can sting gently, but --



not fly silently.

The clouds are the blood

of planet Earth, my mother --


the blood of my blood.

People are praying:

God, please do keep your distance --


You're getting too close!

Sweetheart, the earth is getting cold
we have to do something
take ourselves by the hand
The guides walk away

in different directions
guided by the wishes
of their followers, that's how

it always goes, whatever you think of it
If only there were guardian angels
with power, not the writers

who meet in this café
no, a Guardian Council
for presidents and scholars

who want to unload graphite powder
on the north pole, throw atomic bombs
upon it, or build a dam

in the Bering Strait, with pumps
on peaceful nuclear energy
finishing the job

Yet... all of us, we
must do it ourselves, guard each other
with wings of compassion and reason

My house has large beds
in which naked people groan
and girls are *****
by other people's loneliness

The guests pay for
washing the curtains
which their soft hands stroke
after the night

They don't expect calluses
from the day, they rearrange
and they smell, they don't pick the flowers
themselves, they live inside

where they are content
without achievements, because
the world is exhausting
if one wishes to change it

and spring admits no delay
life must be lived, enjoyed
since no one spoils you
better than you do

Watching videos

I see shadows of people –


Is it Plato's cave?

Our love fills the room
The basso continuo of your voice
conforms and mixes
with the song of the string
that you strike within me
resounding into heaven
- heaven, heaven

I bend my branches
with you, I ripple thoughts
of you all over you
I drink the rest from your cup
pressing my lips where yours
still kiss me, in heaven
- heaven, heaven

Outside the storm dances
something free, it runs away
around the corner, into the night
which we make wait
while we stay here
in the light of heaven
- heaven, heaven

In the evening the dunes are flat
and swampy, watery grey
bushes darken with dashes
of red and blue

Everything loses solidity
land looks like sea and sea seems to be land
in thin waves of twilight
water coagulates to shades of sand

Clouds resemble a massif
and moonless, mountains
seem to be a night-black sky
in which there are no stars

Ideas are lifelike
shapes do pass
Know what you attach to
then you are free

The little blue hat,

she always wears it, because --


why would she undress?

It is by waiting

that you can see what the world --


has to offer you.

I wrap myself up

in my poem, to show me --


show my open wounds.

In the scrap workshop

I build monster vehicles --


Modern Frankensteins.

The Queen of Nothing

gave hope to the poor people --


She was dangerous.

The poem opens

a window where I expect --


to go through a door.

Before they can speak

angels always have to wait --


for a listener.

On the veranda, we wait
for coolness, a fresh shower
Only with us there is light

Nobody sees us
nobody is at home
What is he thinking of?

Not of me, fortunately
I'm already hot
in my underwear

I keep quiet
otherwise he'll fancy
and that takes me too long

The nights are so short
we need sleep
no sweaty ***

In ashen wisps clouds

are moving across the sky --


Far away: the moon.