April is the cruellest month but
isn’t May the kindest month, luring
squawking pheasants to look
late Narcissi in the eye, feeding
future plums trained on the wall, letting
last year’s seeds turn into borage, rue.

Looking down the steps across the street
above the shops, the trees, the hill
with its tall tower and the sky
full Mary’s colour-
shall we go there, you and I?
Surrounded by the sea of city sounds
like a distant view
which does not disturb
the centre.

In the endless rain of winter,
raincoated and umbrellared
the passers-by pass by.
In summer, will there be cherries on the lawn
and blossoming girls in blouses
with inviting buttons and under the branches
a hidden bed of leaves;
under the sun, will time stand still?
On the way there, exams to pass,
quarrels to unfold, and dragon jealousy
will reappear, and stay, casting
a shadow on the scene,
on everything,
a dark streak through the sun,
bitter in the taste of kisses.

Above the last hut, by the lake
totally translucent
the flowers smaller and smaller
tiny gentians shine back at the sun
their impossible blue.
There in the mountains, there you feel free.

Tilo Ulbricht

2014

Image: Piotr Zawsza