Vase of Crete

You, your lips full of wine aroma,

blue keep of clay, rose-gang

round a draft of Mycenæan light,

unimplement, drink-thirst

far effaced.

Diffusions. There come to be

freebirths. Sheer shining

beasts, rocks, bright uselessness:

streak of violets, lukewarm skulls

meadow-blooming.

Wave countering stance and stare,

glow of deeper bacchanals

countering nothingness and its stigma:

First growth and head grown wise,

wash, dust—hands of boys,

limbs of runners, space-bound,

take your strand on jug and slope,

when with fish-head, flutes, onion

Leda-feasts rose-redden

coupling, flatness, overthrow.

Gottfried Benn