Erik Lindner Poems

1. All that is born can disappear.

How on a boiling day a low bench
receives shade from seven olive trees.
...

Till a sail of the windmill comes loose
Ivens waits on a chair for the wind

till the tip of a dune hollow crumbles
for the wind on a chair waits Ivens
...

The sea's purple at Piraeus.

A flag creeps over the bell tower
when the wind turns.
...

Off the coast the diver rests in his story
and sparsely draws the cliff behind the beach.
The wind cuts the story and wears and rubs
...

In the storm soon to come
the road will become impassable

barriers close behind us
...

This layout fits somehow in
this house left swept clean
after the loft extension
...

When I walk to the sea
I can go two ways

- two ends of a line
she follows the words past her index finger
...

1.
A bone lies in the sand
of an island that doesn't stand still
...

1. What matters is just that it's somehow right
the chance to be a component, to belong
to a company, a collection. People
who get changed between the low hedges
...

Do not doubt that reason,
that reason, that reason, that reason.
A fly walks from the edge
to the centre of the table top
...