A landscape like this

in winter, on unique days --


seen for centuries.

Alarm, already

five times in just a minute --


I hear my first name!

Alas, making love

is the worst, so self-conscious --


we are, both of us.

It started with Ox House donkey
In the housebarn of the manor
The room was full of family

It was warm, with mum
and the aunts who know all
about childbirth, the men also

stayed up and drank to the new
king, his little bed with lambskin
in a manger was next to me

After Passover in the capital
we had to leave, the news
of our son was buzzing around

people came to warn:
Ox House Camel, the alphabet, Door
to open and to close

Hand that reaps the fruits, Eye that sees
and Mouth that speaks the truth
My heart that knows the concealed

breath of the breathing, spirit
over the waters, the words
it once started with

A lie cannot walk,

it has neither feet nor legs –


you have to bring it.

On the edge, I'm dripping out
from my jumps in men

their nice words
*** and impatience

Wishing to give each other everything but
not knowing how subsequently

to lead a life of our own
Thinking about that for so long

that it is a problem
insoluble for logic

from which it originated
and elusive

for my unrest that fears
to miss opportunities

and is distracted
by the laughing and dancing

of the passing people who
did not pay attention to me
did not pay attention to mé

on the edge, dripping
from unappreciated beauty

on the edge, dripping
from unappreciated desire

I like to lie awake
thinking of romantically
with him, forever after
yes, I do

want to be the princess, I know my role
but my prince still makes mistakes
and blames me for Great Expectations
that he mocks

preferably in the presence of others
because laughing is healthy
anyway, just me is good
enough

we say: you are my dearest
a little crazy
but beautiful
the way you are

A little flower,

delicate between sharp stones --


that's what life feels like.

A living statue

does not seem to have muscles –


for a sudden sneeze.

A living statue

bends over, taps my shoulder:


it wants a picture.

Breakfast late
the table half-cleared
embrace in the kitchen

There's no need for more:
stomach to stomach, hands
around us

Slowly you take off your clothes
and mine, easily, we reach
for love that is already there

the glowing and the delay
the fulfillment that is already there
the big secret

Before getting up I look
how you are still asleep and almost
not breathing, gently

I touch you, enfold you
in my hands and then
I take you with me

we wake the children
have breakfast, kiss, and wave
watch them all the way



With a friend I weigh
our lives with everyone
taste what is sweet and sour

between the words we always
have to tell each other more
than a week

the children are growing
it all passes
while it stays with us

All he could do was

hiss like a snake: Hizzizze-


rezshzmeezezzymuzsh.

On assigned holidays
I step out of the order
of my work into the row
for useful relaxation

The grain comes up
the sun breeds the grains
and colours the winter out of our skin

Everything is included, extras
can be booked on site
and appropriately enjoyed
in one of the wings

Thus we fly laps
in our dreams for a week
enjoying our role

although there is always someone
who doesn't participate, hooking
on to the back with a book
that he could have read at home

without disturbing others
in their well-deserved vacation
of exclusive behaviour

All in due time please,

we eat the soup and the flies --


but not in one bite.

The kitchen and the large bed
are Mum's, Pippi and I
live throughout the house

where everything must be in its place
I'm working on it every day
just like Mum, and sweet mouse

Neil hangs on his tail
he watches and sniffs
then I pet him, he likes that



I was two, now I'm seventeen
my room is mine, and Trini
is mine, my stuff

friends, jobs, money and all
the things Mum would not approve
if she knew, are mine

all mine
even if they explode
and I can't help but cry

All my life it is

mysterious that I think --


with all my body.

All my magic spells

come from knowledge, study and --


lots of willpower.

All my skin is clothed

in a flowing net of rain:


living crocheting.

All stories are true,

somewhere in the world, and here --


they may happen too.

I knew the outside world
from stories: there are forests
and foreigners, mean people too
But always someone comes
to help, and I learned

you can be a hero
It's about the outcome
(the blessed life only starts
  with the happy end)

That's how I grew up
and the world grew along with me
so that my outside world got further
and further away, and I learned

daily life is boring and
it is unfeasible to be a hero
But my little son wants
me to tell something exciting

So I get brews
from the wizards of stories
I stir and boil them up
I let him feast

eager
to be soon grown-up enough
to go into the wide world himself
travelling to the happy end

and I keep silent how far it is
and that it is shifting away
every day, to the future
in which we won't be

All things break down, and

they perish, fortunately --


slower than I do.

All those stupid things

in my youth, and my parents:


what a lovely time!

All virtues are bright,

but justice mixes things up --


into a brown truth.

All your thoughts are free,

they are only limited –


by their own bulwarks.

Almost drowned houses,

the residents on the roofs –


waiting like Buddhas.

I don't preach, I'm going my own way
Not really, because where I go is already a way
I don't preach, I have mixed feelings
about what I know. I'm not near-sighted

I don't preach, I cast anchors, thousands
of buoys everywhere in the sea for those
who want to rest in familiar words
and want to be human together

Happy, then happy together
Sad, then sad together
Tired, then strong together
Alone, then not alone

Along the road stands an angel
with wild hair and a mouth full
of astonishment, an angel of stone:

mother, you stayed behind
you've seen too much
of the carbon black sky

The ground shook at night, the door
rattled with angry neighbours. 'Go away!'
father cried. 'What do you want?

My daughters? Shall I send them?
They are still virgins.' He called us
but quickly quickly we left the city

that was ****** then
We no longer have friends
Next year we would get married

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

A lot has happened,

mistakes have been made, and crates --


have been packed and moved.

A lot of wisdom,

as the harvest of my life?


Nah, I know better.

Grandpa is sitting straight
against post 8,5
his feet in the hole

I am a horse
in the empty place
facing him

dust clouds behind me
and splashing water
I am a flying fish

my fins grow
wings with feathers whizz whoom
I already am on the other side

and back with eagle eyes
beware, I claw you away
before you see my shadow

I do the mole crawl and
with mill sails, I rain
a moat around our fortress

Although you like me,

I'll be alone again, once --


you got to know me.

Always novelties,

that is the evolution:


copying errors.

Always snow or rain,

always the clouds remain grey –


still, there is no spring.

Always with measure,

also and above all truth --


It is poisonous!

A magpie inspects

what is trusted, what is new --


around my new house.

A man, a woman,

one home, one welcome, always –


a bed in their hearts.

Getting up at six o'clock for swimming
lessons in the mountain lake, in autumn
with fog and rain, then breakfast

clocking my time on arrival at school
and wanting to win the run
around the sports fields, as if

it brings me any points
for what I am worth
relying on the lesson

that I do it all for myself
because the great ideals
of the adults are too good

for their worries
I hear their words and their deeds
make me think

so I knew it already

Ambition is: not

valuing yourself enough --


It is a defect.

I dream myself in the sun
on Italian shoes, eyes
follow and admire me

That is what's missing, naturally
should have been there after years of toil:
being in my place, tired but satisfied

waking up in an easy life
(fish jump into my pan
  the cotton is flowering
  high in the summer)

I dream myself in America
Spotlights are waiting for me
They follow and admire me

where I go, in bright halls
and clean streets smelling of
jasmine clouds and sweet men

who bow to my analysis
(I speak, light on my feet
  with big, wise cat eyes
  Thank you. I have made my mark.)

There is a fresh wind
there is a new world blowing
through the city, I see
my life in the distance

lying to my feet
Young men aspire to me
they give me everything that's needed
for the new time

They are the promise
I carry its torch
They are the deed
I am the promise

I promise heaven
on earth, my *******
are full, my dress
is transparent

After every conception
I am a ****** again
After every conception
I am still a ******

Am I elitist

if football is new to you --


and I explain it?

Am I in hell now?

I don't think it is heaven! --


There is no one here!

Am I made of glass?

My inner self visible --


and unreachable?

A miracle: men,

beware! I'm alive, I will –


swallow you like air.

Am I still myself,

are you you, or do we merge --


in melodion?

Am I unworldly?

What kind of world is it then?


This one, where I am?

Am I unworldly?

And should I suffer with you?


Is my pain too small?

Am I vindictive?

With flaming sword, an angel --


telling you the truth?