I steer

clear of

the days

like

a tea

having been on

too long

conjuring up

an

uncertain fear

of loss…

which

freezes

the people’s

smile

on its surface

for me to

forever

have it on hand,

on call

like the memory

of the call of a cuckoo

wanting to lay

his egg in my nest

while i am longing

for that very different thing,…

night,

which i don’t know,

morning,

which i

want to leave,

language,

whose words

have

not yet

been found,

faces,

whose smiles

suck at me

like a mother’s

face,…

 

it nourishes,

it destroys,

it gives you

freedom

to depend

and

it is

an occasion

to

get away,…

to be

leaving

to leave,….

 

like a

division of light

in the morning

which steers clear

of the day,

like an

iceberg

melting

with the extinction

of the others.