ON A BEACH

She had spoken of a beach,

his muse, and he had been on

one, and he tried to imagine

them there, an encounter,

something primal that would

banish this melancholy stream 

death's nearing touch created;

he tried to raise in a vision 

the fundamental things that speak

to the flesh and can let it

dominate the part of us that

thinks and thinks endlessly

and quivers before things

it can't change. But the flesh

was weaker than the timid

mind, mind which in all beings

coming passing sees a part

of its own end, all the years

invested into that other life,

shared with it, no matter

its nature. So the vision

withered, a limp thing dark

waves carried away in silence,

as he thought and thought

about the slowly approaching

death nothing could avert,

and that part of him that

would be gone.

05.-06.07.2024