My work is simple,

I too am averagely --


uninteresting.

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

When my sorrow broke,

I bought a pack of old grief --


Now I'm a poet.

Drinking cool water

with you after a hot day --


The sun sinks slowly.

The downpour dances

with the waterfallwater –


the lake overflows.

I promised again,

in the meantime already --


crossing the threshold.

My motions from one

into the other flow like --


the tide while turning.

War: I run away,

then it steals the sounds I have --


not taken with me.

My heart is awake,

a beehive crowded with dreams --


bringing me honey.

The little ticket

is still there, if it didn't drop --


when I felt for it.

Salt biting my skin,

tides rinsing me out, the sea --


pulling me along.

How do you smell, how softly elastic
is your skin, how will your mouth kiss
my heart on your tongue?

Is there any solid ground
on which I am safe
other than under your feet?

Shall I write to you
about your eyes, that
they have cast me down

and I don't want to
but have no other choice
but to wait for you

your gaze on me
a word to me
the tips of your fingers

of which I dream
and cannot sleep
for fear and longing

even in love
with this stammering
of my happiness

There are just no ways

to our goals, we hesitate --


and saunter about.

Mother shakes her head,

she has a different view --


of my path in life.

In the empty hall,

standing next to her suitcase --


mum waits, and she cries.

I'm happy and look

around with astonishment --


Is there any hold?

I'm a kind of half-

human, there are so many --


others I do need.

The wind surrounds us.

The restless howling tells us --


that we are inside.

All my life it is

mysterious that I think --


with all my body.

She sighs, her body's

becoming mama, it's hard:


love every day.

Believers give God
a portion of His abundance
not as a sacrifice, but as a person

who helps neighbours and fellow villagers
spares pack animals and allows butterflies
to flutter and who is not only sweet

to stuffed animals
but builds fountains
to water the noble horses

Unbelievers decide for themselves
whether they sell their yield
what they eat and what they share

God and greedy people too
choose themselves who benefits
what the henchmen get

for taking, and the front men
for hiding the abundance
in the heavenly clouds of Moneyland

Little waterfalls

along my long strides, hear this --


music fantasy.

Girls tease each other,

just to attract attention --


from the toughest boys.

I'm ashamed, I eat

brownie crumbs, in the movie --


I've **** in my mouth.

I suspect a cow

in the meadow at night, there --


the black spots that move.

In the big city,

one person's ceiling is an-


other person's floor.

Everything blossoms

in light and heat, attention –


is just like sunshine.

Men remain boys, scared boys
With a questioning face you take them
by their fat finger
It's easy to break

But sometimes they get wrapped up in their game
Then they sleep badly and wake up with a start
from the dreams in which they practise
what they are planning

By day they can't smile
They are busy or absent
and when they leave they shout
that they love you very much

They take it so seriously
It's so important and urgent
that they can't talk about it
until their success is assured

Our silence is their conscience
We can't do more
until it has failed
despite their good intentions

I ride on the bus,

the day begins, I wake up --


in trusted landscapes.

Don't fear disaster,

grandma says, but I dream it --


happens anyway.

Bare buttocks in the berm
free, peeing under my pants
laying down on my side

the world and I flatter
grass everywhere, empty
of chairs

blue flashing light over the ****
I think the sound
to the condensation stripes

My look jumps over
the ditch, sees hided
flowers, I hear beetles

that I don't hear
the grass colours my eyes
it flies upon my tongue

and lets me have a taste
green with marigold
and fresh *****

I rule out myself

when reading, so I can hear --


what is being said.

Man is a wild animal
in a herd, a group
that organizes
to be tamed

but it's not easy
to get the systems right
There are unexpected effects
or oppressive requirements

No one is responsible
Deposing leaders, killing
dictators makes no difference
The people tolerate the successor

Help is needed
From the outside, but
the borders are deadly
to humanity

So I must appreciate little
things, a glance
the clouds, fresh bread once
and dream what is forbidden

Then I heard the sound

of only one clapping hand –


and my cheek turned red.

We were here before;

then, like blind people, we didn't --


notice each other.

I just stopped writing

that diary of mine since --


it is never true.

So I'm a poet,

which was once just a pose, but --


I conformed to it.

The light at the end

of the tunnel is my hope:


heaven anyway.

I could not stay, without an escort
we traveled under the seven heavens
and only later did I realize that
up there are the souls

of Adam – expelled just like us
John and Jesus – the messengers
Joseph – rejected by his family
and Enoch – the living teacher

Aaron – still loved
Moses – the patient
in the desert of unbelief
and Abraham – the first to surrender

With borrowed eyes I see
under the heavenly light the radiant
new Jerusalem, the city
that we are going to build here

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

Swimming hand in hand

isn't easy, we take a rest –


with salty kisses.

I am shocked by the question
to myself: who will comfort me?
Where are the arms

that rock me happy
and promise me a bright future?
With whom will I be safe?

.....Come on girl, there is more
.....under the sun, it shines
.....look around you, smell
.....the weather, you have your nose

.....your eyes, ears, and mouth
.....and your hands of course
.....not just for the love
.....of a man, of a child

But the world is so big
I want someone
for myself, a home

where I recharge
I want someone
to embrace, four arms

that feel together
that I am a woman
to love

There are still traces

of you in the house, in drawers --


air holding your breath.

The wind blows, nothing

happens, maybe unless you --


look to see something.

Retirement is nice,

grandad shows it in his chair:


never to get up.

You jump the queue, but

why do you want that, your soul --


being left behind?

Silent. Dark. House
All the time I'm thinking
of you, your silent steps

in my memories of
your steps in this house
blindly in the dark

from my confusion to
the love under my fear

a void now, no voice
to shout, no tears
no longer a body, lost

if I were to leave here
or live a different life
if I would like to

The cupboard, crammed full

of my memories won't close --


Out! Out! Out! they push.

I have a gun and

like to have it with me, but --


where can I put it?

The house has new sounds,

a harmony: languages --


dance, and skin colours.