From my Hand the Autumn eats its Leaf: we are Friends.
We shell Time from Nuts and teach it to walk:
Time returns to the Shell.

In the mirror it’s Sunday,
in Dream there is sleep,
the Mouth speaks true.

My eye bends down to the Sex of my Loved One:
we gaze at each other,
we speak a Darkness between us,
we love each other as Poppy and Memory,
we sleep like Wine in the Mussel,
like the Sea in the Blood-Beam of Moons.

We stand entwined at the Window, they look up at us from the
it is Time, that they knew!
It is Time, that the Stone condescended to flower,
that Unrest’s Heart beat.
It is Time that it became, Time.

It is Time.

~ Paul Celan


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