No iron can pierce the heart with such force as a period put at just the right place.
                      Babel’s maxim

Freezing inside golden jars,
They’re trying to recover their senses
Within bluish immensities of solitude
Nothing can escape this intensity,
a buzz of nothingness among
deaf animals trying to escape,
to recover their senses
they die, they sleep, they laugh, they weep
but no one can see them,
no one can hear them
Fatigue encircles them in a sunny cage
made up of trillions, and trillions of jars
they cannot die, they cannot sleep, they cannot laugh, they cannot weep
Tell me if you have something to say
when plain breeze revels in your innermost self

plain breeze upon delicious icy rocks,
killing every whisper, every lie
And this windy torment you cannot deny
as the snowy season nests inside
There are musicians dying all around
Complaining about the absence of all sound
I know, they are the worst of all,
Disbowelled, with dry limbs, they climb and fall

Death, golden, frozen, with no music
Exposed a hidden harmony through the immensity
of that transparent garden, covered with snow
Following the image of every prayer,
Useless objects, that used to be human-animals
spell their own despair upon skyless
roofs, an offer that no one would recognize,
a blaze of glory for immortal eyes

But who am I to turn to these dry bones,
a coronation of a sacred simphony
That would be heard, repeted, played for all eternity
If only some lost angel found his name, or found his rose.
Frankfurt, 21.10.2016 (Friday)