When you lie <br />in the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth, <br />with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow, <br />the Crane through Thought- <br />showers, <br />comes gliding, steely- <br />you open for him. <br /> <br />His beak ticks the Hour for you <br />at every Mouth – at every <br />bell-stroke, with red-hot Rope, a Silent- <br />Millennium, <br />Un-Pulse and Pulse <br />mint each other to death, <br />the Dollars, the Cents, <br />rain hard through your Pores, <br />in <br />Second-Shapes <br />you fly there and bar <br />the Doors Yesterday and Tomorrow – phosphorescent, <br />Forever-Teeth, <br />buds the one, and buds the <br />other breast, <br />towards the Grasping, under <br />the Thrusts –: so thick, <br />so deeply <br />strewn <br />the starry <br />Crane- <br />Seed.<br /><br />Paul Celan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-you-lie-3/
