Celan, some versions

IRIE

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 remembered, 
as if I knew that you had