am startled at times that the 1 whom I amspeaking to is not there, yellow and red elongateleaflets from the robinia tree waft to the ground, thenthrough the side alley into the BÜRGER CAFÉ, reading withblossoms and clouds, o Jesus your blood who cansave me, covered with oaks and sparse pine-trees, thishasty goodbye you hurry to the car the stones of Sifnos withblue-green brows while the cut-flowers razor-sharp in the prairie, the rock-hard mnemotechnic, art of recalling,automatized reciting dressing and undressing reading, dripdab onto the asphalt or my gratingsteps. The kitchen window open wide my brainin the hollows of my knee, breathing heavy
10/15-16/04