the sun is a new house
you write it
it is tomorrow
we hold our hands through
the open windows
the cricket sets its clockwork
you write it
it is tomorrow
the day arranges a blue dress
in our garden
oh how cool the rose still is
you write it
it is tomorrow
the butterflies still wrap their wings
in silky paper
every word comes from the rose
you write it
it is tomorrow
how nice the leaves so leafy
to expect leaf
an apple cut into halves precisely
you write it
it is tomorrow
maybe the lark's
flight will unite it once more
H.C. (Hans Carl) Artmann (1921-2000) Austria
Translated by Johannes Beilharz
Source: International Poetry in English Translation
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