it is snowing
I am a fish wrapped in a newspaper

the newspaper is old
you can barely see the letters

I can only see one word with each eye
however,
there is not much to understand
one word is life
and the other is its opposite

there is a hole between them

through which one can see the sky

just like through a waterhole
one can always see
an escape

lonesome
so peaceful
with the writing sheet
watching how the words unfold
empty
laved in light
like mistresses
who always lie
on the happiest side
of the bed

in the winter
death is a white hare

in the summer
it takes the colour of the forest

this hare is rather fearful
it only sits on its hind legs
and looks around
careful not to be spotted

and as old as it is
no one has ever seen it
more than once

a sunshine
warms your ankle

occasionally blowed by the wind
the linden's flowers cools you up
and you're smiling

I can barely breath
I have a peep at you ironing my shirt
paying attention to every detail
caressing and looking it dearly

like you are ironing it on me

my child asks me
daddy,
do dead people dream?

no,
my dear,
only we dream

they are already awake