Norbert Hummelt

were is there an end to

the suggestion of the ever new

looking at: effect

of evening sun in the neewly greened twigs

of the white tree blossoming

in the yard, early in april

on same days always / where is there an end of it

the soundless wailing

remains of garbage or silent withering

of flowers / jetsam

coughing in the cellar, the furniture there

is throughly soaked

the arm-chair (heirloom) the Rhine has taken

a prayer of bones with the last flood - 

here is something

I can study all

my life and

never understand. onwards to

all alley's end