an old man

i am here, an old man,
see drops of water
hanging from bald twigs
shimmer in the sun.

this sun changed my day,
made snow transparent
and liquid, transformed
weather and mind.

still i like to nag,
it is a privilege when
the veins and arteries
fill with clots of chalk.

i cannot change
the course of stars
and the fate of men.
where once all roads

were open and wide,
i have to listen to
the wind on my cheeks,
feel if a door is open.

and maybe i prefer
to sit, so many paths
leading to nowhere
but to meet myself.

soon i shall travel,
not yet into this sky,
but to uncertain shores
floating in another light.

when the rose will
not flower and arms
will not hold me warm,
i will keep to myself,

shall walk the streets,
the gardens and fill
with music and sound,
opening to my dying,

closing to words
coming through fibres
and long long tunnels
keeping me caged.

i will open to life,
will only listen to
the waves coming in
and going out to sea

deafening desire, tides
translating the deep,
me a speck on earth,
dancing within.

i dream, still wish
not without, not without you,
but how do i read
what i cannot see.

buried in its shadow
the soul cannot fly
without me who flows
through borders of skin

to touch the invisible.
walking the ground
i find it hard to smile
all on my own.