Corona
Autumn nibbles its leaf from my hand.
We are friends.
We shell time from the nuts and teach them to walk.
Time returns into its shell.
In the mirror is Sunday.
In dreams come sleeping–
the mouth speaks true.
My eye moves down to my lover’s loins.
We gaze at each other and we speak dark things.
We love one another like poppy, like memory
we slumber like wine in the sea shells
like the sea in the moon’s blood jet.
One heart beat for unrest.
We stand at the window embracing.
People watch us from the street.
It is time people knew. It is time
the stone consented to bloom.
It is time it came time.
It is time.
Paul Celan
translation: John Felstiner
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