The eyes, rivers and grass—
To each one’s inclination:
The dying off, the dirt.
House, that bears the imprint of a door, you,
as a wrapped packet in a word chest, the dear sweet boy,
the off that he owns.
Plus
gloriously
empty of language:
You are—a real human being
A crow in the airspace;
You, little man, are one man—
You are a man, who disbands
and offs your own briefcase
by means of black coffee
or salt
or sunshine.
Lunchbreak.
Then: off.
One holds off two seconds ...
Then one goes home—to a garden
which is different from the year before last.
One often stands in front of it
as if still waiting around for something other at last.