DORIT DORNIER

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Musings of a tightrope walker...

 

Evenings

Why do some evenings have a different smell?
The last cloud seemed to leap away like a winged horse.
No leave that moved, no bird that sang -
Did nature hold her breath?

Why do some evenings have a different taste?
I felt my teeth bite my lips -
As if I didn’t want to swallow yet another night.
Are some dreams not worth dreaming?

Why do some evenings have a different silence?
It was a time my thoughts stood still -
What could the answer to this waiting be?
Are some questions never to be asked?

 

 

Winter nightscape

Moonlight’s reflections

Are catching my eye

On countless blinking crystals of snow

Frozen songs of dreaming cicadas…

The land, the dormant lake

All visible in silvery white

Trees, serene and somber

Standing darker than their shadows…

 

I feel the ghosts of the cold

Conversing with the spirits of the land

Fourfold around the house...

In the morning we’ll find

Their agreements written down on our windows,

Mysterious calligraphy.