The quoins lock tight around you
in the dream where you are made of menilite
and I am a blue tent.
The delicate engraver
died long after completing his vision:
four spires, a bridge,
soldiers on charade,
a cloud in the form of a tree,
a square prism of space
forcing the air out of all directions.
You locked up all the Meissen china
before I arrived.
Dresden, why do you fear me?
It is deep midnight
although you think it is spring.
Repugn, and live!
Live, city of the barred soul,
Live, bright river,
Live, boycott!
Three Jews to settle at each railway station.
Dresden, my balk, my privation.