The Salt Lake

The moon like a winter animal licks your salty hands,

Yet violet foams your hair like lilac bushes,

Wherein the learned screech-owl calls.

There before us ready-built the dream city stands,

Where all the streets are black-and-white.

You walk in glittering snow of promises,

For me the rails of reason dark are laid.

Houses are sketched out in chalk against the sky

With doors cast in lead;

Under the gables there are yellow candles standing

Like the nails of numberless coffins.

Soon enough we come to the salt lake.

There with long beaks kingfishers lie in wait,

Which I the night through fight barehanded,

Until their downy warmth becomes our couch.

Ivan Goll