THE JAVELIN-THROWER AT TWILIGHT

To my father

Sun going down, the land

in deepening blue, the Moon

stuck in naked branches

beside the road, the empty

road, beyond the forest

rises up the hillside, on the

ridge the highest firs

bathing in orange fire,

calm, silent twilight

at five pm, a moment

if not beyond time, then

in time crawling in

deep, blue snow as

Sun falls to other skies.

Absent, the human

- whose loss is a javelin

piercing the landscape

with the burning

embers of the Sun -

with crossed hands

sleeps, beyond time

and almost alive

in these moments when

the eternity stands an

atom's width away.

17.02.2019