O Little Root of a Dream

by Paul Celan

Paul Celan

O little root of a dream
you hold me here
undermined by blood,
no longer visible to anyone,
property of death.

Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth,
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,

even
here,
where you
refute me,
to the letter.

From: 
Glottal Stop: 101 Poems by Paul Celan

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