A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always stron….

He speaks truly who speaks the shade..

With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of what’s silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so….

How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life..

Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live..

you're rowing by wordlight.

Reachable, near and not lost, there remained in the midst of the losses this one thing: language. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite….

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss..

A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose..

The heart hid still in the dark, hard as the Philosophers Stone..

Read! Read all the time, the understanding will come by itself..

Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won..

Death is a master from Germany..

who is invisible enough to see you.

Spring: trees flying up to their birds.

Poetry is a sort of homecoming..

The two heart-grey puddles: two mouthsfull of silence..

We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'.

Count up the almonds, Count what was bitter and kept you waking, Count me in too: I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you, I s….

They've healed me to pieces..

A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belie….