To the Sister
Wherever you go becomes autumn and evening,
Blue deer, which sounds under trees,
Lonely pond in the evening.
Softly the flight of birds sounds,
The gloom above the arches of your eyes.
Your thin smile resounds.
God has twisted your eyelids.
Good Friday's child,
At night stars seek the arch of your brow.
Nearness of Death
O the evening, which goes into the sinister villages of childhood.
Under the willows the pond
Fills with poisoned sighs of gloom.
O the forest, which softly lowers brown eyes,
When from the lonely one's bony hands
The purple of his ecstactic days sinks.
O the nearness of death. Let us pray.
During this night on warm pillows yellowed by incense
The slender limbs of lovers release.
Putrid shape gliding through the mouldered room;
Shadows on yellow wallpaper; in dark mirrors
The ivory sadness of our hands folds into an arch.
Brown beads run through dead fingers.
In the stillness
The blue poppy-eyes of an angel open.
The evening is also blue;
The hour of our dying, Azreal's shadow
Which darkens a brown garden.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt