Count The Almonds
Count the Almonds,
count, what was bitter, watched for you,
count me in:
I sought your Eye, as it opened and no one announced
I spun that hidden Thread,
on which the Dew, of your thought,
slid down to the Pitchers,
that a Speech, which no one’s Heart found, guarded.
Only there did you enter wholly the Name, that is yours,
stepping sure-footedly into yourself,
the Hammers swung free in the Bell-Cradle of Silences,
the Listened-For reached you,
the Dead put its arm round you too,
and the three of you walked through the Evening.
Make me bitter.
Count me among the Almonds.
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Comments about this poem (Count The Almonds by Paul Celan )
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