short thoughts

IN SOME REGION
UNIMAGINABLE TO YOU,
HIGH, SNOW-VEILED,
A FACE BEHIND THE COLD,
EYES SHUT, IS DREAMING OF ME,
OF MY RETURN
TO ITS ETERNITIY.
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Friend: one day, you
opened that black door
behind which I imagine
there can be only terror.

You opened it, and then fled
along the chill corridors
beyond madness: I remember
it with a shiver.

How is it that when I shut my eyes
I can see you
in some joyful spot, smiling, just like then,
when it all was perfectly simple?
--------------------------

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It´s raining buckets,
time is crumbling,
I´m looking at some kids smoking cigarettes
against a dirty white wall.

I am thinking about something
which can be discerned in dreams:
the voices of the past,
the quiet of the grave.

My heart
of coal
weeps
with the rain
on the soft, deep
grass.