scar, degree, when summer retreats,
Misunderstanding monochrome, without reflexes, without colors.
go to bed, half thinking, half asleep, a wait,
that never tires, like a bus shelter.
Missed the first bus, the second.
chained, as long as you can sit! Someone came and brought
you a tea maker, in the winter. As blizzards crowded the
passers-by into the shelter.
Everything pressed together, on top of each other. And you underneath,
out of stone, she grasped, heard them speak of this and that garden,
who always blooms, flowers in the summer and candles in the winter.
And you underneath, out of stone, she grasped, Her words, have waited,
until the last bus comes and takes you secretly, parked in
this garden.
Then it was summer with all its colors, who brought back
the reflexes, the nuances. Children dipped their brushes and you as
rot, blau, painted yellow ladybug.
So many colors brought to life your scars.
And you fell asleep peacefully as a stone.