there is much hidden here
in a silence tall as a pine
with its crown drowned in the sky
I see it beyond words
like a book opened to death
or a rock-lit glow
around something good
or yet another perfect thing
and there are already too many of them —
a spiderweb on the reeds
that has caught the sleeping stars
can you imagine this silence?
deep as the death of a dandelion?
when everything is locked into simplicity
and nothing new has ever existed
as trees fall silent to one another
as chestnuts on the ground are silent
to one another —
so the silence wraps around you
so alone
like a hedgehog —
what happens in silence?
I write under a moon bitter as chocolate
perhaps Shakespeare still wanders there with a lantern
and my son sleeps here and I write something in the silence
my skin lies like a dead shirt
and my heart tears out like a madman
and whatever I write
I am doomed to be alive