Germanic tongues make their
precious way through
infinite aisles of celery
and artichoke hearts;
how poetic!
what confusion!
the hour stands still
as the old man decays and
brings life to death,
but not before crying
one last time
for the toenails
he hasn't cut since the Hundred Years War:
do we ever really age?
there, on the windowsill,
next
to the
oleander (lies the truth)
of what happened a day ago --
a lifetime ago--
when the hand stopped ticking
and the ocean stopped waving
and everyone was at a loss for words,
and the only thing that could be heard
was the song
being sung
by a child
with an outstretched hand
and nobody was there
to hold it,
and so she kept on singing
and she kept on waiting
and singing
And waiting
and just like that the years went by
and our ears got accustomed to the song
that is still being sung
and the hand that is still outstretched
remains outstretched and empty.
