For the Lyre Poem by Urs Allemann

The hand that climbs into your breast your heart
to tear out falls off. It is yours. You bend over
to pick it up. Now your heart falls out. We fling
ourselves to the ground to hit into what’s ours the hearts
the hands the teeth. To jerk it down. Now you’re
falling your head has slid from your shoulders and converts
in rising flight up from inside to out as can’t be
imagined but told eyes. Even blood some think
flowed now. Weeping a ways away. Patient
the strewn all around the bones of others
sound. If by chance Orpheus came by
I’d sing him something shove the
meat-eating lyre her part of
what like, fell after.

Tranlated by Ann Cotten