or not the point
whatever or whatever
is possible or not (me
in so and so many variations)
when the almost
winter novembers me
I retreat into myself (or
sometimes misery)
to find the harvesting of truth
to be done or lies
from all that living
which was me or not me (whatever)
sometimes it novembers
in october like this year
the harvesting of truth
or lies happens
alongside my picking
of quinces and apples
in a grey dribble not yet rain
my beloved trees
wintering away early
the tanned and swimming
summer self retreats into
darkness quietude once again
to listen to whatever comes up
darkness quietude once again
to listen to whatever comes up
(c) Susanne Becker
Kommentare
Kommentar veröffentlichen