Poem for Trakl: after carrying the word sanft through my dreams



Gentle pagination
easy with the image
as it unstows in ink,

never forced, often hanging
or hinged on a word:
like sanft,
that when coupled with another
becomes sanftes,
and its softness looses
and settles,
sinking into the breast
as easily as rain
vanishing in the forest.

Trakl rises from the page
with all the pain-tethers drawn taut,
until a reader pulls them free,
fine dendrites of gold and crimson
emancipated from the thin pulp
flood the world with their pollen,
oh, a galaxy of fire
here on earth
streams from a single wayward soul
that cries come back,
return and nest in me
with all your snowpure sufferings.

A lone walker catches sight
of what can only be described
as an angel,
wreathed in the source of blue, of purple,
whose lurid robes conceal a suit of armor
made from newly risen stars—


S. Grube

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