Song
Song
there is a smile you share
with him, and he with me,
which grew inside you,
a well flowing, a wind,
ferns, a hawk on high,
a silversing of flute –
how still it haunts my ears
so far from waves
that lap grey stone
on which, long-haired,
sword in belt, light
in quiet eyes, rides
music, still and smiling.
Haj
Munich
10.V.99