All the little shutters opened up
feeling what is going on
in the twilight
within me

not fantasizing
feeling what is going on
outside, over there, a farewell
their arms around each other

and all the way long
my legs are tired
from the runner who smiles
at the happy woman

tears in my eyes
over the baby in her pram
it is getting dark
my window a mirror

in which my preliminary self
asks for love
for my marriage
under construction

and for my body
oh mirror image
I love you
I do what I can

In the evening we

rest and cautiously express --


our sincere feelings.

Under the night filter
I lie awake
in hibernation

the blossoms on my skin
dusky grey, luckily
I think that, still can think

something, that's all
and the itching continues
to plague me in my head

where I can't reach it
I can only wait
until it is dissolved

and I feel again
like having cake, luckily
I can bake it myself

when I have the energy
and my thoughts
find the words again

While I am musing

the sun hesitates to rise --


and it's getting dark.

The storm growls and howls

through splits in the hollow wall --


like a house *****.

Souls are colourless,

black and white the setups that --


separate people.

The trees in winter:

no pigeons, no bullfinches --


the nests breaking down.