naphthalene of the skin
and a formaldehyde of the smile.
etched on image,
that appears every when I close my eyes.
smell of a peppermint mead,
meditating over the airplane traffic.
“I never wanted to be a hunter,
yet I was a soldier”.
“this is not a mantra, – okay, now it is gone”.
you’re holding the dry leaf,
twitching and threshing it between your fingers.
“are you cold?”
“here is my scarf.”
the bees are preparing for the hibernation;
leaving clover fields unattended,
somewhat earlier this year.
“no, these are not the stars,
these are lights of the Big City you see.”
“don’t worry the river won’t carry’em away to the Ocean”