Sunday Verse
With Letter And Clock
by Paul Celan
Wax,
to seal what's unwritten
that guessed
your name,
that riddles
your name.
You're coming down, are you, downdrifting light?
Fingers, waxen as well,
drawn through
strange and aching rings.
Fingertips melted away.
You're coming, downdrifting light?
Clock's honeycomb empty of time,
bees myriad bridelike,
ready for flight.
Come, downdrifting light.