(no subject)

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Twelve Years


The line
that remained, that
became true: . . . your
house in Paris -- become
the alterpiece of your hands.

Breathed through thrice,
shone through thrice.
...................
It's turning dumb, turning deaf
behind our eyes.
I see the poison flower
in all manner of words and shapes.

Go. Come.
Love blots out its name: to
you it ascribes itself.
------------------------------------------------------------
Celan, Paul. 1963. Die Niemandsrose. tr. Michael Hamburger