Heavy with Time  

the days are shed, the years peel like paint off walls.

Naked time frightens some people into church vestibules,

towards side altars, for others life suddenly smells of a

storm, with a thunderclap it will carry them off somewhere.

The lucky ones simply close their eyes tight and hope

turns red in the brilliance of the burning bush. Some open

themselves up to friendliness, others close like water-lilies

in a marsh. Some become bold when they notice the sound

of the ticking of the cancer clock in the body, a few

launch warships and point them at themselves. Many try

to guess: will memory be swept away like a trace of snow,

will the term take leave of its meaning, will the faces go astray

in the abandoned house of the soul?