On grammar Poem by Ulrike Draesner

like light
in fissures hollows towers
light flows up in
cells. you are. but where?
the sea's already rushed
enough. like swords three
cloud-sharks shove their way
across the sky: formate. the
night's alight. the pack
a call. light as it
flows into fissures hollows
stones. you're not
where, not who. you
move, the forest's standing still.
the earth turns. the lamb
leaps into the sea. a
shadow calls. something old
knows of you. the throat's
stretched already. the
wolf loves its sentence.
a call, the pack.

Translated by Richard Dove