like the feet of newborn children
your eyes are during longing –
go –!
go –!
along the strangely speaking rivers,
which give birth to the forests
and fill them with answers –
o, the forests,
cowering the rivers
like listening melancholy snakes –,
and drag the sky down over themselves
with deaf immovable arms –
go –!
perhaps you will find there
a giant woman
with delightfully singing feet
or white eyes –
or
mountains of sleeping men
with red burning senses
between them as bonfires –
or
terror-stricken children
with faces of burnt clay –,
and hands clutching small spotted stones – |
or you find
the fat god,
whose tears pound flood-happiness
on the hard leaves of the swamp-plant –,
whose small eyes smile,
while the tears drum like despairing teeth
faster and faster –
go –!
always you’ll find something –
(not the cure – )
do you not see, that your illness
is greater than all others –
o, many you are –,
you, who bear the contagion –
go –,
and spread your infinite restlessness over the earth,
always you’ll find something –