Father was a muselmann, after the war
mother ran him down. He was still alive
to be with her

The Red Cross didn't know
yet he was there, too weak
to catch her

a skeleton in circus clothes
no happiness left on the bones
She loved him

the man she wanted to know
sick, smoking against the TB
and talking to the memories

in which he lived, and to us
to whom he is a stranger
but with whom he can be himself

and can go into the forest
if it is dense enough
to disappear into