pantagruelian wait
for the roundness to
burst in pink flesh

a first kiss for air depriving
a first taste of cherry flesh
a first burble of soft bones

Unsuitable,
they declared,
and then
banished her.

Exiled to silence,
inhabitating
the moisture
of bluish mists,
she unknitted
her thoughts
and let them go.

We all saw it,
that holograph,
ribbons
colourfully bending
in thin air.

The plateau.
A stripped upland,
growing glaring facades
and somber alleys.

And the plain.
Unfolded canevas,
ripples in shades of green,
bursting in red and brown soil.
There, and there,
shattered puddles of sky,
anchoring clouds to the ground.
And, further, so far,
a mirage of an ocean.

A plateau.
For staging a fantasy on the run
to realms of possible.

Death.
No clothes' tearing,
no hair pulling,
no howling mourners.

Modern days' life and death.
A tramway ride.
You jump out,
willingly,
pushed,
surprised,
whatever
- you just jump out.

A few will stare,
for a moment,
to see you vanishing,
back then.

The ride continues.
All empty spaces
are bridged.
Emptiness is not
politically correct.

In a angry windy day,
an ordinary tree grizzled away:

- Unlucky me,
grounded to this soil
of such poverty, all it gave me
is this unattractive
dim green!

- You fed on me,
tree,
- rumbled the grounded
humus -
*but it was up to you
to lively up your green
if a green foliage
should be yours.

old town center

cobbled streets

my presence echoing

in the temple

walking the aisle

stepping on faded graves
of knights and earls

left candles burning

for the ghosts in my history

In days of long ago,
there was this willow,
a very cranky and cracked
willow, standing alone by a river.

It happened one day
that a merry bird,
tired of its journey,
asked that cranky willow
permission to alight.

Time passed by.
The bird enjoyed to have its heart
rocked by the willow
and favored it with its singing;
the willow... well, that willow
went on smoothing its cracking,
being in love with the bird.

And in the afternoon warmth
it felt so idyllic - a willow and a bird! -
that the river itself would
shiver in a glimmering gold.

But the story isn't over.
Could it end in a happy way?

All birds must fly
and so one day this bird did,
never to come back, for the bird
was meant to find a cheer rosery.

And the willow?, you ask. Well,
the willow summoned a sunset,
leaned over the water
and waited for a flood.