„One day I found your face in a tree.
I don’t know how, but I began to see.
Your picture followed me from that day on, so finally I had to take you home.
I came with an axe to cut the tree
and carried the wood all the way with me.
Picked up my tools, ‚cause I couldn’t wait
to carve and scrape what’s underlayed.
Over the wood’s surface my finger went,
– and so my finger went
felt perfect structure under my hand.
– felt your lines with my hand
And dared to cut out the very first part,
– cut out a little part
while I was frightened to make a wrong start.
– scared of a wrong start
But with my first movement I lost your trace,
couldn’t recall the lines of your face.
Everything changed while I came too close;
while so vainly violation I chose.
Abhorred I threw away my tool
and called myself a stupid fool.
Who needed to crave, who needed to secure just to destroy
something gorgeous and pure.
I raged, I whined, I had whiskey to get drunk,
sat down in some distance to observe my trunk.
Calmed down, leaped up, felt hope, felt despair
– but never again moved you your treasure to share.“