the rhythm of my life has changed o’er time
from hectic to considerate to more relaxed
things that pressed urgently in previous years
now suddenly can wait a bit, and without fears
that anything important might be missed

the wisdom of maturity, or just the laziness of age,
allows me now to cast a much more probing look
on our daily world, watching events and people
with more distance than in younger days

whether this is a  blessing in disguise
I dare not say, I’m not the sage
who tells you where the long-sought treasure lies
but just a greying man who tries to figure out
what his life and the world are all about

Excitement wells up at the mere thought of stringing together the letters of the alphabet
and forging some sense or madness from the depths of silence
where the heart of your soul dwells in constant joy
knowing the invincibility of eternity.

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.

once upon a time,
she alighted
on atlas' shoulder
and softly
told him a story.

as he unfolded
his path going
west, she unfolded
words, tracing the
east, for the sun to rise,

and then she sighed
and he held her, made
her his night sky
- heaviness of light,
folded heart.