corona

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
Street:
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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