Twilight

What I forgot rambles outside in the twilight.
In stormy weather of outer space it wanders, cold.
And I say: it is cold, apart from me.
I bring it home, who else would, I bring the lost thing home and to reason.
To reason and home, as generally in life.
And it wanders about in twilight like the old animals, this wing or that being broken, feather or foot.
Everywhere in the dust of the road,one by one its eyes are fading.


Poem for Later

He takes a long time to be there.
How long he does take
till the wings turn into shoes,
the meadows of heaven into waste land,
blue into nothing.

When he does arrive he has exhausted
paradise and rainbow and sunshine
and he has no tale to tell.
The poem is old. He is driven
...