Diese Tage, die leer dir scheinen
und wertlos f?r das All,
haben Wurzeln zwischen den Steinen
und trinken dort ?berall.
But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation
And every bit of us is lost in it
(Or found?I wander through the ruin of S
Now and then, wondering at the peacefulness)
And in that loss a self-effacing tree,
Color of context, imperceptibly
Rustling with its angel, turns the waste
To shade and fiber, milk and memory.
The scent of a Cosmopolitan cocktail.