short days

Earlier this year it somehow became spring
when working on a clear evening I realized that 
I never saw the moon appearing so big
and that all my friends were sad and that there was nothing I could do about these things. Unconcerned I indulged the deep drone of absurdity, for it would fade into a sweet feeling soon enough.

Approaching a lonely winter I dream of things 
that warm my heart. This time about a dog that came to me
and slept in my lap.

As I woke up from a fetal position, there came in a sustained
note so highly pitched that it was almost not audible, only to
crescend to flash of hot white. 

Whatever time and space there was before rescinded 
and a new day began. It being still pitch black outside I could
see the room and my body in the window that became a
mirror. During the night I have grown old. The world must
have gone through a lot.

When I looked at my reflection I tried to read my face and
practiced expressions. I found that I often looked scared,
which amused me. I charged up, washed up, and left the
house. Outside going to the bus down the road, downwards
where I need to go with increasing speed, chaperoned by
endorphins. I happily napped in my seat, scaffolded in an odd
position, my fingers caressed my hair and I thought of a few
nice things to say to my parents and friends:

I love you all! For me the final line in the poem is
„I’ll die in the forest. I am going inside.“
My love for you is the same spirit that gave me your strength, your own efforts of love. This life is a slow burn and I want you to live with me.