behind autumn’s rusty pleasure
and the leaky old rowboat
that is hauled out of the river
year after year,
a dog barking through the morning
– sound check before the elk hunt
there ahead, beyond the forest,
awaits that which is called future
you are on your way there, with two
red berries in your hand,
one for yourself
and one for the world
against power you stand equipped
with the shining stubbornness of the heather,
you know that this won’t be sufficient
not even the four cardinal points
are enough
but your arms reach a dream
where time is not rushing and where
all children can speak all the world’s languages:
every tongue enjoys a freedom
which does not exist
you who don’t listen to the incomprehensible
will never understand anything
we are not only what we are
we become what we see
two red berries; there you stand
on the threshold of the world, you
walk on the air and the wind is blowing
in your hair