You probably don’t think
about me anymore
(as spring about winter
and winter about fall)
But tell me
in the deepest of nights
do you ever wake up
feeling the calling
far from your sight
(and sight of any man
life or even meaning)
do you ever start crying
because the tears from
miles and miles don’t
let you free yourself
from burning (in the
same time dreams
of you were cut
from my heart—
—the reality so painful
and shiningly suicidal)
but don’t worry please
for
the stars and the trees
and the world is
the beginning for you
(for me the end)