REFLECTED LIGHT

Days without writing

poems, and then

yesterday a day for words

of others, for dead voices

being given different garments

in my mind, like changing

clothes on paper dolls,

and today, feeling a bit rusty

letting own words come to knit

sentences into verse again.

Yet how much

here is reflected light

from yesterday?

how like the innocent

thief Moon is dressed

in the brilliant light of the Sun,

are the verses here

rags from the robes

those dead voices still hold,

stolen paper garments

given for myself to wear?

28.-29.10.2025

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