Licht

The yellow traffic light on Jürgen-Strasse

blinks through the pines,

and through the kitchen window,

the glow of the evening sun infests

the horizon. I put
away the forks, I put away

the forks, I put away the forks.
I put away the forks. Headlights pass.

A pile of loose cement,

cordgrass, guardrail.