Poured in a few warming glances for sweetly rare memories

to carry away, pity gone by, to enclose this inviolable,

yet get to sense those wet summer meadows caress my legs,

to catch the calm wind close to the corner of this stable



I am everywhere down here called a dreamed


A hidden,

inside indecisions; the seasons rake me in as gone


Glances of Life linger on to remain inside the bitter hurted

and to guest the old property as if this life still was alive,

as if an unknown mist hanged on to this very Life perished,

as would my life still remain in Life as my own Life


(Coldly clear. A partly unhinged wooden gate creaks wind,

opened unto a forgotten yard whose remains can be sighted slightly.)


Leaned over wooden boxes filled up with potatoes and carrots,

smelling in filled bags with mealy apples in the foyer cold

which all lasted as long as Winter would hand its permission


(Frost stricken. The gravel path glimmers its fragile floes,

small stones set inside the frozen sand did glisten still.)


I am snared sorrow-wise, bilious, mild-eyed, fragile and lost

like the last apple shined witnessed left on its winter branch

sees this year’s harvest of autumn leaves beauty rolled in frost


I stand ended,

alone left unarmed against unreality’s gruesomeness


Sidling up to the charcoal kiln forgotten by the region

in thinking of friends’ swords drawn out from the field below


Underneath the darkness,

fresh laid snow mounds in a blue bleak winter night




Brewed afterglow:

Dead stars’ cries of regret in the night

beneath gleamingly lingering daybreaks remain ―





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