The heart hid still in the dark, hard as the Philosophers Stone.
you're rowing by wordlight
There was earth inside them, and they dug.
Read! Read all the time, the understanding will come by itself.
How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life.
There's nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even he is a Jew and the language of his poems is German.