The Forest

What a strange thing is the forest. It is not inhabited, Man is just a shadow Among the trees, A curled-up leaf Torn from the upper branches.

Fallen petals fall softly, The earth yawns, pushes forth New sprouts and sickly flowers. To me, until now It is an act of faith, Yet another form of shipwreck, Where fog swallows The edges of the universe.

Let the wild beasts roam free In the depths of winter’s palace, The forest forever breathing, Where nothing is as it seems.

• Richard Huelsenbeck