Two in the Afternoon
The minister's gray spitz
at the sacristy door.
Sparrows' wings scuffle in the dirt
in front of his sightless eyes.
Like memories to him:
the twine tying the brace of pheasants
that appeared as a crack in the cemetery wall;
the shaking of the gravestones
when the crippled caterpillar wriggles;
the discoloration of the bricks
in the scream of the dying mole.
Calmly he acknowledges
the report from the woods
that the gates of paradise are to be thrown open.
    (Text of the poem in the original German)

And
Fog fog fog,
hair
in my ears, a
noncommittal
friendliness
and
and
and Raissa's sweet laugh.
Experience tells
what belongs with what,
what belongs with and,
only with and,
no rationale.
It will last
so long as the and doesn't
slip my mind like the other words.
It's enough, thanks, it's plenty.
    (Text of the poem in the original German)