1 september 2020, limburg
sitting on a hay bale
a crow
saying goodbye to the elusive summer
drifts, glides behind
the silver of horizon
strokes
the forest and the meadow
not for the last time
kisses good bye
parting
the exhausted sun
keeps a low profile
bleeds resting behind the clouds
soon this thief of emerald
this crimson autumn
without contriving
vividly will be thriving
wood will turn saffroned
the wet spine of earth
will be visible
covered with silk white
i sit in my boat
rowing with the sailing clouds
looking from nowhere
the constant coming and going of
hundreds summers and winters
above my unfortified vulnerable town
where people sleepwalk
thinking and talking in past tenses
but for now let’s enjoy
this bowl of sour sweet blueberries
maybe tomorrow
wouldn’t meet us again