Barely heard A moan drifts up From a lower world The scent of wet ice Either a cattle farm Great mundane pleas from moonlit vats Of mud Some stirring of the blood Old alpine pang Or a crevice wail Broken leg song Lichen undernail A life of skin A blue so dark he will go blind A moan drifts up Bile on the breath of spring A silent swiss funicular On unlit rails Passes through dense wood smoothly Crosses the meadow And finds me Through a gap between the molding And the pane