As for the subtitles, my German is a bit rusty, so please forgive me.
Invisible Hands
I. Letzter Nacht hat es geregnet.
The rain dots the
concrete, drop
by drop, forming
shapes and continents,
scattering the sediment.
Some invisible hands
are squeezing the clouds
like heavy sponges,
draining life down the
sink onto our earth,
our homes, into our
eager mouths, agape.
This happens through
the muggy dusk and
into the night (those
same invisible hands
have covered our
box with a magician's
black cloak). Look
outside and see the
moon from any direction;
for once, we are
the orbitees.
II. Ich will nicht meinen Traum vergessen.
My final thought
before I awoke this
morning (still streaked
with rain/life from
last night) was the
conclusion to my
peculiar dream;
let me tell you what
happened:
I was circularly pacing
in a small room somewhere
in Munich, Germany.
There was a single
window, and I would
rest my elbows on the
weathered pane and
marvel at the Alps
far, far away. The old
Bavarians would smile
with aplomb and wave
at me as they passed
by in their Lederhosen.
This is all I would do;
I felt neither hunger
nor apathy, but I
could not leave my
small room.
III. Es deckt nicht und alles auf.
The rain evaporates
with the heat,
seeping beneath the
concrete's surface,
skimming past each
shiny granule. How
the sun orchestrates
this is amazing.
I am now
conscious; most
of my dream is
forgotten, fallen
between my synapses
and electrical impulses.
How the brain
orchestrates this is
amazing. What are these
rainy dreams?
Where are these places
we transcend, where
those invisible hands
decide we must traverse
to be praised
or punished?
