Poetry
Trakl
Thomas Meyer
Bird flight. Harmony. Harmonies. The greenwood
comes home tonight. Quieter places.
Cutglass pastures. The deer.
The brook splashes. The dark relaxes. Moisture. Shade.
And summer flowers. Fair winds. Chimes.
Twilight. The look on the face of a man thinking.
And a small light burning in his heart. Goodness.
And food, peace. Bread. And wine. Holy.
In God's hands. There you appear. Night after night.
A brother's gaze. He wants to stay. To rest. Tired of travel.
Alive to night's imaginary blue.
Tenderly. The silence in the room. Their shadows are held. The old.
Their purple grief. A generation and a generation laments.
And is humbled and gone. A grandchild. Alone.
Awake. Bright. Brighter. The last black minutes of insanity.
Here the patient would enter. Except it is now stone.
He is held. Overpowered by. The blue. The lightening end of autumn.
The quiet house. The stories in the woods.
Laws and measures. Laid down. The moon's path. Those who are gone.