LIEBESTOD

if it is possible
let us grow (smothered
on the air) matchless & frail

fallen in love to Death

burning (some breathless breadth out of
th'pale lustre which floats

thoughts upon their pond

without th'silent notice of
the Human Mind unequaled &) among the mandrakes
of wildfires swirling in the forehead)

Love: that Death, that total surrender
of the Self, that Folly never to be

laughed at (fanned so absurd!) en-
gulfing All [The Mockery of th'earth
their chilling, whirling notions]

cutting us down like knives
yet to be reunited but a moment after
knife having ghostly passed
by (immaterial) Passion's painted Moods

If it is possible & if it is possible

let us, Lack's unlikeliest
lovers, let us plop to
th'appreciating Dust, hopeless, like droplets
of Perfection (that lovely

Blood) for Death
if The one Portion we mortals (out of
perfection) possess, if
it is possible: let our desires

assume the impermanent shape of
petal, flower, one flavor of th'formless
many (if we can't cut it), too late

as we are always--Flight sinking wingless
away from Death's cruel/early silhouette,

towards some shadow of Life
lazily, silently, with O no design or

Song or (if it is possible: Exceptional!
Unprecedented! Singular! Alone!

but not: abandoned ) ...