The Neusiedlersee

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The molten tide immobile mirror
Used by the flat, the tropical crucible
Encompassed like an aerial structure.
Far camped by the river of the hillwalking stairs
In the sluggish day the watery steppe,
As Austrias strange guest.

He lashed out at von Röhricht
The miles thick, the bristly collar
To protect the vulnerable chest.
Not a breath can fan out from the Leithagebirge
Not a sound from Margretens stork roofs
Nor the bell of Rust.

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Clasping the reeds secretly

treasure islands and pools and storerooms,
  Emerald malachite creatures.
From the drunkenly floating pipe fable
A whitish spoonbill flaps open
  Like paper torn in the wind.

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In the reed-furred ruff of Lake Neusiedl

Is the high noon of the world at home,
Here he has his home and state.
When the herons set their rudder,
He kicks, while frogs are all around him,
In a cloud of spirit dragonflies
Lazy in the sandy bath.