FRAGMENTS OF A LAMENT TO A FRIEND
I closed your eyes.
I put your hands back in their place.
The soles of your feet
look at me in pity:
I am superfluous.
I find my hands.
What can be done with my hands?
I put my hat on my hatted head,
buttoned my buttoned coat.
The new cemetery is large,
all future. From far
and near, incessantly,
the cantors sing.
You are silent, a bit embarrassed: perhaps
The goodbyes will be long.
The nails grow slowly, pledging peace.
The mouth-gap reconciles with its creator.
Now now the fists of earth beat
on the tablets of the trap:
Open for us,
open for us.