Poetry is not a sign of heart, she said.
I´m getting out of light, he said.
But I think it’s my fault.
Things are going weirder and weirder and we don’t seem to see.
Let me go back to my backyard
And try to hold on something beautiful.
Not let go. Let it be weird. Let it be reasonable for itself.
Focusing on what is precious. Late at night, it might sound funny.
Have the dimension of whats huge. Sound like a silver machine.
Golden silence.
Fallen leaf silence.
Across those dark eyes you will see.
