12-03-2014, 06:12 AM
Da steht ein Lindenbaum
A rough sort of love for life;
a love which shivers and shakes off
blankets, patchwork quilts of leaves.
The love of twigs, snapping
underfoot, between finger and thumb;
bark on soft palms and rivulets of sap.
I have been digging; densely packing
earth beneath nails. Cementing up
gaps of self, building my limbs anew.
Lips cracked; caked, clayed, and cloyed.
Hands clasped at the root: a prayer,
half-sung, murmured. Held for just a breath.
A rough sort of love for life;
a love which shivers and shakes off
blankets, patchwork quilts of leaves.
The love of twigs, snapping
underfoot, between finger and thumb;
bark on soft palms and rivulets of sap.
I have been digging; densely packing
earth beneath nails. Cementing up
gaps of self, building my limbs anew.
Lips cracked; caked, clayed, and cloyed.
Hands clasped at the root: a prayer,
half-sung, murmured. Held for just a breath.