We sat

we picked our flowers among the wreckage
we sat that night, barefoot
got lost for hours, tracing each others minds
past the wall of masks, past
shattered shards of clumsy glass
that threatened the soft flesh of the sole

The eyes spill stillness
into the antsy unrest of flesh
o how exciting it is:
geistige Schmucksteine ursprünglich
die Angst um Sein
überwinden.

but like that poem I never wrote,
all relations dissolve into the night sky
and mystery fades away into nothingness
where I'll remain
a small layer of nothing
wedged in between the minds
of all those
whose blue gifts wither away
hang another star in the sky,
reflecting the glimmering light of my own loss.
I'll be there soon.