the best hour to think
is this
3 o'clock
when it is still dark
when finally dusk breaks
the famed virginity of
a morning
light
it is the perfect
time when your mind
is like glass
with frost
and you write your pains in bold letters
using your index finger
no one reads it
and then the mist outside
as it is still very cold
covers all the letters again
the way you like
the icing so sweet that your dear mother
once put
on your naked birthday cake
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem