The Outgoing Song

On the warm grass enclosed now

by dull light and silence

your thoughts have fallen. Only

one bird that will insist on jabbering

breaks what calm

has come over you.

All worries, pains, all things that

you owned and were broken by

are reduced to this impassiveness.

For long now no one has brought

giant sorrows; small worries vanish,

spill out from you.

How quiet it is possible to grow!

Then why this want, this reaching out;

why the regrets then? The outgoing song?