Kinderhiet, Winterheit

einmal auch ein Kind, Ich war,

und es nicht so lange vor--

jugendlich und neugierig so,

hätte noch ich so viel Zeit

zeit für lernen

selbstverständlich

besser zu lernen,

Echos und schatten.

Es scheint jetzt so,

scheinen alles wie Echos;

jetzt überzeugt ich bin,

daß kam Winter nach Frühling.

The Crow's song

Today I think I’ll be a crow

and wade, wandering in knee-deep snow

and wait, wondering, for Zephyros

my throat already sore. Cawing,

pruning, filthy threadbare feathers

fearing my beak might freeze together

waiting for some warmer weather’s

herald, since all our friends took wing.

Wearily, wearily, await the sight,

Shivering, shivering, that red on white

Cheerily, cheerily, the steel-gray skies

Seem brittle. I’d sing:

A fanning fire fills my breast

Cheerily, cheerily, and all the rest

My dull eyes scanning, east to west,

Then wearily, wearily falling—

The bright red Robin’s loving wing

In this empty meadow, nowhere seen,

I grip my frozen branch. And wait for Spring.

Water from Heaven

When it rains again,
when the pine trees bristle and dance,
when the begonias in the thirsty garden sigh--
I am reminded of your singing,
your dancing unencumbered tongue,
your lilting, whispered fingertips--
in every rain-drop beating on the roof,
in the random rhythms beating on the roof,
inside looking out onto the patio.
Where you would sit and watch the rain come down.
Where you would sit with our thirsty flower-bed.
Where you would sit and become wet.