How funny, crazy are we?

Squabbling, pushing, scrambling,
posturing, threatening and killing,
when this short verse shall be
read only once, and after we will
be hidden in the great secrets
of earth, and wind, and time.

Here now I see the trees,
and the garden in spring colour.
Now uncluttered I see your face.
I take your hand.
It is enough.

I see other faces in places
of shame.
The crumbled landscape as interval.
Their verses not even heard.
I see the settled dust of death
as home.
I see you.

I am caught breathing in between.
The screen and my garden
and you.

How funny, crazy are we?

 

20/10/2026