Count the Almonds by Paul Celan

Count the Almonds

Count the Almonds,

count, what was bitter, watched for you,

count me in:

I sought your Eye, as it opened and no one announced

you,

I spun that hidden Thread,

on which the Dew, of your thought,

slid down to the Pitchers,

that a Speech, which no one’s Heart found, guarded.

Only there did you enter wholly the Name, that is yours,

stepping sure-footedly into yourself,

the Hammers swung free in the Bell-Cradle of Silences,

yours,

the Listened-For reached you,

the Dead put its arm round you too,

and the three of you walked through the Evening.

Make me bitter.

Count me among the Almonds.