With wine and being lost, with

less and less of both:

I rode through the snow, do you read me,

I rode God far–I rode God

near, he sang,

it was

our last ride over

the hurdled humans.

They cowered when

they heard us

overhead, they

wrote, they

lied our neighing

into one

of their

image-ridden languages.


(translated from the German by Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh)