Foehn
The wind
which kills:
le vent qui
tue.
Too much
light,
green shoots
out of snow
and trees stare into the sun.
white
clouds glaring,
hail out of
blue sky.
The soil
bursts open.
I dance
around my wound.
windmill wings
flail me
into dizziness.
but I fly
and join the tumbling leaves,
listen,
they are hissing.
who knows
the words
of spring,
when a lone
bird sings?
