Flowers wilt, even

if they are out of the sun --


and made of paper.

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are
      
and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by
      
and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter
      
but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society
      
that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by
      
and life forgets what has been

The world rotates, nights

after days, and after peace --


the Master arrives.

I live my portion

of eternity, a cry --


gives me the shivers.

The square is so full

of tourists, and so empty --


of life like back then.

Things just float over

my retina to the dark --


of oblivion.

All things break down, and

they perish, fortunately --


slower than I do.

Wind and rain at night,

and I wonder how many --


flowers have fallen.

The speed of the train pulls
the weight out of the world

before my eyes, shapeless stripes

draw unscientifically the formula
of Einstein on the windows

Sometimes there is a short view of
what it is, when you stand still

Then you can see
what it is, something temporary

in its puzzling flight
of apparent illusions

Everything exists
not knowing how

The mountain stands imperturbable
in the sun, being, being

Receiving clouds, and hail, snow
their bubbling and whirling going away

at its feet, the children's rush
and the pubertal noise of water

playing itself hot
in an embedded adventure

And I am standing on top
of the mountain, being, being

Receiving the sun, experiences
and night thoughts, growing old

Everything melts, nothing in my hands
nothing in my open arms