Every ten years your head
lands in the tin box.
It is not the vision.
Ach du lieber Himmel!
What a show!
the words fall off the page
and if and if
the moon had not been closed
you might have landed
beside the crows and the otters
crawling over the wet moor
of the mssing one
but it is as it is
the shouting that you hear
as the banged door stops the rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem