Bergruine Englehaus

I have slept out a dream. I have heard

Too much of the prattle of desolation,

Visualized the skulls in rumination;

There are no seas like death.

Grown out of an immediate life

I feel it as the last refused importance;

So I love death somewhat surprisingly,

Meeting it suddenly in memory.

Confronted impenetrably by therefore eyes,

And the desolate miracle of blood, the all-forsaken,

I am broken, as it humbled this tower of stone

Into a hand importunating distance.

T have not been of you, have muted time,

Castle! My hands are nettled with blue flowers

I did not know I was forbidden to touch,

But my eyes are stung with a bluer distance.