After every step,

I have to take another --


Yeah, with all my wits.

We haven't made any gold
and are sitting in the stench
of 50 buckets of *****

Trophies surround us
from the seven-locked cabinet
as a battery around our happiness

Tonight we borrow luxury
for a debt to the future
and we drink to bygone days

We stuff gnawed bones
into our nostrils like jewellery
and eat comfort cake with whipped cream

The party is drawing to a close
the mattresses are ready
for after the drinks bath

Everything is oh so interesting, we talk
louder and louder, listen how superbly
we imitate animal sounds

To sustaining tones, the material
world draws a trail in smooth loops
from a bottle hanging askew
on its navel string and running

empty over the blue rug
of awareness
of all who are there
A pendulum thought

More and more light shines
through the bottle and the wind
in our senses
wipes out the patterns

we have repeated
into a magical eight
of insight into the infinite
course of our lives

The fulfillment of a wish
is a brief happiness
a happy ending

if you then die
or make a start, on something new
a next phase or a next step

For a lasting Happy End, the hereafter
has been invented
and the comfort

you derive from descendants
with the added thought that later, some day
everything will be fine

That's how it goes
without a realistic view
of universal happiness

and without the rush of an illusion
you may learn
to go with the flow

that concludes nothing

Born in light
tasting what life is
rolling and running
full laughing most of all
and the wheel turns the water

around the earth around it
winds with clouds and
the fire of the sun
the wheel of beauty:
the seasons

bamboo shoots and blossoms
all dying
the fluttering flight of the skylark
the wonders of the forest
beavers reconstructing the brook

a May-bug on a journey
over my leg and flying
in my hand which I close
and open again
the smells

of vegetables being cooked
moss and steaming dew
mushrooms in autumn
the village in the winter months
when the stoves burn

the wheel of my life
my kids, my work
the colours of my clothes and
from my hands the healing voice
of seven long strings

Books and photos on paper
are a fine way of preserving
and keeping my life complete -

who I have become
from my youth up, memories
of my family, images

of their presence
their activities and the places
that belong to it, all together

a constantly growing mountain
with hair-thin dendrites:
the mountain of my life

Everything goes well

the way it's going, there is --


no final judgement.

Just one road, nameless

on the map, that one of course --


am I following!

The road has lost us,

we have left it, over there --


it's looking for us.

There is a boulder

in the middle of the road --


there is a boulder.