burgundy flower
under the Lord’s sky
and mine his warrior-foot,
remove your love-
tongue into
the snow forest – the mile-mouth,
at whose edge, I have to watch,
guard and
listen –, until the Lord’s day lets
hymn lilies in
all conifers quiet the
only:
each soul its paradise-
hen in the babbling pot of
loveliness –
burgundy flower quench
the emerald tongue of my
happiness –
remember, what I am
made of –
on His finger I found
for me a
blue helmet and the
ice-white dagger –|
in the blue of the helmet my
destiny –
the cramp-spark of the edge
my only soul –
blind I
walk through the forest
under the helmet of invincibility
with the Lord’s ice-dagger
in front of me to create
all the world with –
I am yet too
tiny to dare
pluck you and yet
maintain my blindness
untouched –
over you, my slave-stalked
queen-mature
burgundy flower,
with my own
name, my own beloved
hands, my own loveliness-
wet face, all
like fire-stones, joy-eggs on
your narrow knee –,
over you
I now lay this
hill of snow, that you
not for the sake of a squirrel must
be remarked satan –