To prowl the walls plunged into autumn,
Figures: A man and his wife, both dead, walk
In cool rooms to prepare their bed.
Boys play here. Ponderous shadows widen
Over a brown cesspool. Girls move
Through a moist blueness and, at times
Look out through eyes filled with sheer night.
For whoever is lonely there is a tavern
And patient lingering under dark archways
Covered by golden tobacco clouds.
Yet always, there is the self, black and near.
In the shadows of old archways
Drunks think of wild birds, now gone.
— Gerog Trakl