Thursday, February 20, 2014


There's no complain in her eye. Night
fades out: she remains a stone and so do I.
Leafing through the daily pages I'm hooked
to the picture of a frigid Niagra. Cold seeps in
through my slippers and my armchair was never
less warm. The tea, my only sip of luxury, tastes
tedious.I consider telling you "Honey, this is not
a man flu!" But how do you enter a home without
being invited? - A dog scowls nearby.

I recall the tall claims made by certain "logists"
who reassured rebirth of embers
in silent rain.

Yet the camp fire is the only glow.
We watch the dance of flames: shadows grow
and shrink back to our dimension. Darkness settles in
between the stars.Morning sweeps away the ashes
leaving us in the ice-age under a future-less sky.

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