TO HIS MUSE ON A NOVEMBER NIGHT

She has given much,

more than enough,

far more than enough -

from the beginnings

nothing would have

been enough,

enough & just,

& he has earned

little since,

for he has given

only the foam

of the mind,

as much

as there is,

and what the years

have saved

of what was given

at birth

by the deceased;

easy things

to give, those,

the foam

of the mind

sloshing in its bony krater,

turbulent

until all thoughts seize

in the final peace,

& the flesh

- but how much more

he would give

of the flesh!

So words,

foam

atop waves

send again

towards her 

distant shore.

13.11.2025