Breaking

Night

apart


just before the soil

becomes

touched by dawn

over the plain now.


(The winds tore down the blossoms.)


Leaving marks and concealing them,
trampled,
before all beauty will
rot

again.




Feeding ungrateful jackdaws

while we feel how the witch berries

soon

will

ripen


again.




The rosehip still blooms

according to its sole purpose;

adaptation to the dragonflies.




*




My Clarity;

before your sloppy eyes,

the value of your rubbish,

the set Choices at hand


laugh and cry


so irreparably.


(Make illegible signatures

in the mixtures of your thoughts.)


With sweet otherworldly touches
this world is my gravel pit
and the New Time is my doing.


(It lies latent

and there is no escape.)