byLance Henson
And here is the same wind
from across each border holding its hands openits hands that are broken
and here it is late winter
in the varied passages of these days as none before
we hear the one name for ourselves
repeating over and overand here what is torn out of the darkness
sits in a cold place watching uswhat is there to be remembered
that could change usthe doors opening and closing
in our dreams
in our facesand here … … … …
in this place cold enters the room
soon it will be duskas if from another world
dark birds gather along the edges of this pagein a shade of oak trees
a raven watches my little girl playing
in the gardentheir eyes meet
as seemingly once beforein the winged wind of a dream …
april 19, 2002
untere hueb,suisse