1969

The crescent Moon in deep,

dark blue swims, I

remember what you told me

of 1969; you lived it,

famous words and Cold War

- back then you, lukewarm,

were with the gringos

except Vietnam, the first

crack that spread to the end;

now you live no more,

and the dead wastes

of the Moon in silver

shine. We live in

time that memory

makes history; dust

on the frozen seas of magma,

we think we are

more than what we are,

conquerors of the void

and the essence of time itself.

Then we are no more

and the dead sphere

beyond our ocean of air

like a dead god orbits.

20.03.2018