A poem by Paul Celan...

(Photo takem from Under The Dome: Walks With Paul Celan Jean Daive)

O Little Root of a Dream
O little root of a dream you hold me here undermined by blood, no longer visible to anyone, property of death. Curve a face that there may be speech, of earth, of ardor, of things with eyes, even here, where you read me blind, even here, where you refute me, to the letter.   Paul Celan (Translated by Heather McHugh and Nikolai Popov)