You are away, the old instinct is awake, the walk in the park, a chill wind playing with dead leaves: my soul is hiding, without you… Crocuses shine, defiant, as clouds mask the sun.
You are away, I bathe in solitude, hunter no more, guessing at the dance in the skies, sacred world, surrounded by such beauty, sinner, well on his way to purgatory, or worse?
You are away: instinct prevails, the blank page stares at me, provoking, icy-cold.
The lake is alive, it’s just me: half way there, between heaven and hell.
Photo: Rehberge, Berlin