BOTH SIDES OF THE WALL

I lift the curtains;

snow-flakes dance in the air,

the elms with raised boughs beg,

the firs, solemn, still climb the hill.

The heaven, veiled in white,

mute and distant,

watches. The curtains

fall, I retreat to my hole,

where dust dances in electric light,

where faces in old photographs

beg for remembrance, and

piles of books make mountains

for idle thoughts to ascent

in the sickly light of

consciousness.

19.03.2018