harvest
high clouds over the fields,
this is how a mountain is created,
mountains pass.
The combine harvester mows
until midnight,
in the golden grains, Do I have
heard, could someone disappear
like sucking sand.
Hold yourself, Geist.
Remember, soul:
the worlds outside,
inside the country.
Summer solstice
Wait at the window and look,
unite staggered mountains
in the haze to the twin volcano.
The sun stands still,
before it sinks.
See, what doesn't see you.
The stars are of a different nature.
Eyes glances: human looks.
Your stinging from water,
before they go out.
(Erika Burkart, “the late recognition of the signs” Poems, Weissbooks.w)