O Little Root of a Dream

©fourteenth

                        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.

                        Paul Celan