1
I shy at something that comes shuffling crosswise in the sleet.
Fragment of what will happen.
A wall broken loose. Something without eyes. Hard.
A face of teeth!
A solitary wall. Or is the house there
although I don’t see it?
The future: an army of empty houses
picking its way forward in the sleet.
2
Two truths draw nearer each other. One moves from inside, one moves from outside
and where they meet we have a chance to see ourselves.
He who notices what is happening cries despairingly: “Stop!
Whatever you like, if only I avoid knowing myself.”
And there is a boat that wants to put in—it tries just here—
thousands of times it comes and tries.
Out of the forest gloom comes a long boat hook, it is pushed in through the open window,
in among the party guests who danced themselves warm.
3
The apartment where I lived the greater part of my life is to be cleared out. It is now quite empty. The anchor has let go—although we are still mourning it is the lightest apartment in the whole city. The truth needs no furniture. I have made a journey around life and have returned to the starting point: a blown-out room. Things I have been a part of here appear on the walls like Egyptian paintings, scenes on the inside of a burial chamber. But they are steadily being erased. For the light is too strong. The windows have become bigger. The empty apartment is a large telescope aimed at the sky. It is as silent as a Quaker service. What can be heard are the backyard pigeons, their cooing.