The Young Settlement
Maybe it goes along with a question and a blank mirror.
Any further thought is impervious, alien.
Postion A states, a dot can offer no security.
Follow the trail, find the wood, see where the path goes
around the hill,
the hill's everted and leads into the inside, disappear
there and reappear
at the emerging settlement.
Your home cannot be a home, your home is wandering,
oh, what touching sight your home is!
Field and distance.
Position B is astonished.
Why do the streets like runways?
This is no place, no country,
see, the houses are toppling over behind
Questions are roaming through the night, almost silently.
But listen, they are murmuring.
They are murmuring and whispering
possible answers to each other.
The sky is becoming even higher.
Position C reports how he also wanders without respite.
He knows how to feign a confident position.
More viewpoints start appearing.
The woods - having shrunk considerably - provide orientation.
Take me, believe in my depth, never do I leave this place.
You are here, believe me.
You fool, says the motorway.
Wood, you stand in one place, don't even know
who you are, one or many, you get lost in the centuries,
at night you change your appearance
and frighten with children's tails ...
The fog is getting dense.