Poem – When You Lie – Paul Celan

When you lie 

in the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth, 

with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow, 

the Crane through Thought- 

showers, 

comes gliding, steely- 

you open for him. 
His beak ticks the Hour for you 

at every Mouth – at every 

bell-stroke, with red-hot Rope, a Silent- 

Millennium, 

Un-Pulse and Pulse 

mint each other to death, 

the Dollars, the Cents, 

rain hard through your Pores, 

in 

Second-Shapes 

you fly there and bar 

the Doors Yesterday and Tomorrow – phosphorescent, 

Forever-Teeth, 

buds the one, and buds the 

other breast, 

towards the Grasping, under 

the Thrusts –: so thick, 

so deeply 

strewn 

the starry 

Crane- 

Seed.