SEPTEMBER MORNING

Coming from the sauna

in the early morning

I am tired; an unslept night,

and now morning dim

and cold beyond

the brown curtains,

and I with the flu,

and lost in this exile

with you dead.

I sit before the computer,

in your old armchair,

listening, tired, eyes closed,

to music like a sharp-clawed

breeze stripping fading

leaves from boughs,

flesh from bones,

time from the decades

that should have been ours.

11.09.2019