Sleeps for all the world to see
so inspire me with a phrase
perhaps
how to throw a penny
into a fountain in Rome or Shoa
no, into a slot machine that rattles
and brings luck.
How do I think you,
pythic, your unsupported wings
folded down your spine
like newspapers and one-legged?
Do you resemble Novalis, are you Sophie
Tucker or a wooden dragon, a
flying chariot, golden, pulled by
frenetic flocks of nightingales,
siren, hyena, crocuta crocuta
monosyllabic, star-like, cloud, mobile phone
with my face? Are you
some sort of music?
To sleep between breasts
while snow whirls in front of the house,
only the current hums in the overhead power line
to let a transfer shine through the night
stuck on the cabin window of a snow plough,
behind it the driver, fallen asleep in the snow flurry.
Then limp hither on your gammy leg,
shove the snow aside with your wings.
let hiss what still hisses, until it thaws
and the bridled nightingales give their all,
brightly illuminate the cabin, the cart,
and strike up, Habanera! until the power line
hits the roof, sparks flying.
A man with a blue chin
freezing to death before my eyes.

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser & Gabriel Rosenstock