Forever trying to outrun yourself | to get a clear view | to get to the new place | first | The crowd of the years | disperses | each to a | separate home | The stations and the lakes fall quiet | Your hands look old on a spring day, it is the mountains look so young…

Thinking things into life again | A mind forever April | When the beautiful evening comes to an end, and the guests | disperse | and you are alone | why does the silence | feel so ancient?

 

from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, August 2012)