a terminus spews travelers out into
the city’s streets
i jump a line and fly the five to where
le nuit debout resides, encircled by black uzis
from my camp four stories high i count
the stairs and steps
to anselm kiefer’s looming lines that suck me in and spin my brain through barren scenes
of leaden books, burned and black, that dot a paint-encrusted field of snow
paul celan recites his strophes
the muse climbs up me
silently
i am alone and wonder if my words
shall survive
the summer
Für Paul Celan: Aschenblume, Anselm Kiefer, 2006
Tagged: #amwriting, Anselm Kiefer, Aschenblume, Ash Flower, le nuit debout, Paris, Paul Celan
Mina Witteman 