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Poems After Paul Celan
Out of my hand autumn eats its leaf: we are friends.
We shell time from the nuts and teach it to walk;
time goes back into its shell.

In the mirror it is Sunday,
in the dream there is sleeping,
the mouth speaks the truth.

My eye descends to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we whisper darkness to each other,
we love each other like poppy and memory,
we sleep like wine in the sea shells,
like the sea in the ray of blood of the moon.

We stand entwined in the window, they watch us from the street:
it is time the people knew.
It is time that the stone condescended to bloom,
that unrest inspired a heart to beat.
It is time that it became time.

It is time.