Celan, some versions


That I have time to walk
across the crop stair,
that I have time, into your sleep
to walk the sleepscree,
time to cut grass
low on the lands of the heart,
this morning

YOU WERE my life:
you I could let go of
when everything swam here

AT THE rained-on waymark
little silence soapbox-hoarse:

as if you’d
as if I knew that you had

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