I AM NO ATLAS KEEPING UP THE WEIGHT OF THE HEAVENS

To PRC

Gray, iron gray

late March sky

and here we are under

it, and under

the crushing weight of

our feelings; another

one lost, lost for

now - recovered,

at distance, briefly

like a cold lance of

sunlight severing the clouds

as a heavenly herald

of sharp and biting

hope; like that,

a joyous flood rising -

and then: breaking, snapping,

that pale golden lance;

that briefly, and

now lost again;

lost the recovered

one, lost like the sun is

lost behind those

iron gray clouds

kissing the mist

on the barren fields.

26.03.2020