Something moves in the darkness
outside at four in the morning
(gone are the bright mornings of summer
when sunlight would show the fields in green)
like a great hand touching
the trees and the roof
in one long movement,
and my mind
makes it into wind and rain
at the same time, showing me
tree branches swaying
in wind and roof hammered
by a fast, short shower of rain
as the sound already expires
into silence
and I start to write
(and the pale gray autumn morning
is more than hours away).
07.09.2026
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