A difficult
time
This world
a stonemill
grinding,
noisy,
inhospitable
A whiff of
silence
under a
street lamp,
my heaven,
my harbour
tonight
Black and
white
are no
colours
but merciful
poles
of the same
light,
covering
mistakes
and treasures
Loss of
memory
and sufficient
shadow
make life
more sufferable,
food for
the soul
I steer
along
by experience.
I learnt to
do
without thinking,
even talk
Somebody
talks,
and I don’t
know
if I listen.
So much
talk
kills my
awareness
Now
I will go
into the night
Trying to
save
myself
in sleep
