Jürgen Nendza Poems

I

Perhaps

it´s the trembling

we begin and end with,
...

I


Pliable. The card thistle patrols the side of the path,
but is unable to tease open the material,
...

THE TREMBLING OF YOUR LIPS under language's

wakefulness: winged broom, herdsman's gaze



grow out of the land at the horizon. An open
...

ON SOME DAYS it appears

like happiness, the shadow

that wanders through the room
...

I

Eyelashes rustle, your look drifts beneath

thin ice. Daylight crouches above us.
...