Translated by Jayde Will


becoming ever lighter

I ascend through the smoke

hole, exhale and turn on my back –


my wings spread through the atmosphere

like azure fans. down on the ground


a heavenly still summer day.

in a farmer’s open palm a small cross-shaped corpse

above a sandstone breast two black eye panes –


behind the panes

the deep fields’ starry landscapes.


indoors you tie a silk cord around my beak

and hang me from the ceiling so I’d display

the changes in the weather –


but I spin around my axis thoughtlessly like a top:

I’m not planning on telling you

anything at all


despite the bird’s eye view

of swirling dervish hurricanes and wildfires

which wipe old-growth forests off land

now dry and burnt. signs


like falling stars

break up into pieces on the threshold


one after another:

titles, news, articles

books, shows, conferences.


this debate is older than me –

but it’s up to me to resolve it.