From my hand, autumn eats up its leaf: we are friends.
We shell out time from the nuts and we teach it how to move,
But time turns right back towards its shell.
The mirror shows Sunday.
Sleep comes in a dream.
Truth comes from the mouth.
My eye climbs down towards the sex of my beloved.
Our eyes take each other in.
We speak together, dark things.
We love one another like poppy loves memory.
We sleep together, wine in conch shells,
Like the sea in the moon’s bloodbeam.
We stand slung together at the window, they look up at us from the street.
It is time that they know!
It is time for the stone to allow itself to bloom,
For the heart to pound offbeat.
It is time for time to come.
Yes, it’s time.
Paul Celan, from Mohn und Gedächtnis