Breathing together, in unison, the rise and fall of our breasts, is a kind of language, too.

Whatever we do, think, write, we will never achieve the grace of large-winged birds wheeling in the sky above us.

*

Strangers return us to ourselves.

Is water the river’s skin?

*

“I love the human voice”

“If I had to choose a favourite, I would choose…you.”

*

Perhaps the prettiest sights will go by in the dark. This fertile febrile dark.

Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row.

*

Venus races us again, refusing to be left behind.

Speed is my demon, too.

*

“Where are you now?”

“I don’t know.”

*

What scars do places bear?

Do snakes slough off memories with their skin?

*

And finally I see it, the moon.

The fog, gentling everything.

*

Electric poles vanish, oil refineries vanish, villages vanish, an orange canvas tent, two crows on a bulldozer, a yellow school bus, waiting at an unguarded level crossing, silent.

The courage that comes from the fiery liquids we toss into the blood.

Some evenings she remembers the etching of brambles on the skin of an alien sky.

Blue fish, blue bicycle, red hand.

Black Maria, black widow, red eye.

Melt me down, the voices say, in the innermost of her fears.

Meanwhile, the kestrel becomes a cormorant, the book in her hand becomes the encyclopedia of birds, her bangle a circle of red, knotted thread.

The ladder that climbs to the water tank, the possible precipice of an oil flare.

Bin geborgen, bin drinn
hinter der tür, hassend
Vater – muss dein eigenes kind

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Stets wei ssich
Warum ich sterben werde

Seit demich euch gehört!
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dran lockere

logierte Bahn

vernahm luminose Bazille

lordose Beere primat hortus

planier flammt

obere der facht schlechte

publik lungenlose

luminose Tablett

Ich möchte das Land denken.
Je voudrais penser, imaginer le pays,
faits, facts, faites de la terrre et des idées.

Women, men, children,
I have seen, rarely spoken,
but read about them.

So I scanned their appearances
according to the programm,
which others have set up,
nahm sie entsprechend dem Programm wahr,
das in mir läuft und nun passieren lässt:

le paysage,
das Land,
die Landschaft,
le pays, land.

No land fits
to the shadows,
planning casts.

Nomadising
no law, Gesetz,
setzend, verlangend :
nomadiser le verbe,
le pays,
les verbes pour designer
le pays,
la terre,
les idées:

meine Wanderungen,
migrations of words,
migrations des verbes,

mes verbes dans les paysages de moi-même,
law, love.

Jude Law.