CROSSING A DAY OF NOVEMBER

A bleak gray day

between two black continents of time

approaching each other,

closing the sea between,

that sliver of pale silver

with silent absence

from forest to field to

prison of cement; ghosts

the people on these streets of puddles,

passing without notice

absorbed by lost life-time of pain

and self-destroyed dreams.

From darkness to darkness,

across a sea of silver

hoarding the Sun,

bleak gray days

cold waves; o ghost

on the sea of time, dying,

you shall find no peace

but the void.

06.11.2018