Dating: 18.03.19

Two days to the equinox. I can count it in hours now. As though it’s important.

I ran under a blue sky this morning and could see the moss-covered tree trunks, the rings in the water. The dog ran faster than usual, and is now sleeping on the couch in the other room. I can picture him there, from here.

Oh, to be my age and still clinging to images
wanting to hold them as evidence of a real life
these still lifes, these dead moments
past or imaginary,  equally irrelevant.

I hear the birds singing, feel the cold on my neck
and I try to accept it –

and there it goes. And here I type
wanting it to be meaningful
evidence of a real life.

Posted in: Journal, Poetry

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