Silver armor on the wall
whit time, the madness
silences dead breathing
framed in an old painting
of some relative whit a gold chain
hanging on his embroidered vest and more
the wooden bed cools the echo
in the darkness – and further
the wasted face of an old hag
the grim moon in a bucket
and more
the sphinx the pyramids the sky
full of holes above false castles
mutely glittering in a dream
which looks into the stone-stilled groom
daylight in the window
Which s-p-i-n-s around
under the arcade.
Translated by: Michael Szporer