nothing grew there, save the bitter memories of gardens
sweet dark, sweet talk
radio called all round
they step forward, with hollow eyes, into the darkness
collecting pictures and objects that unite us
the stark reality of day surprises you, as if
you forgot it could happen like this
like waking up from a dream
or, of course , the nightmare
but if there was more –
“there isn’t”
but the world is filled with vast amounts of noise
which we often mistake for meaningful results
“their faith
would have you
swallow a great deal
for a small comfort”
time,
the human dimension,
which makes us
everything // we are
steadily settling into
the fundament of
an other existence
every thing, we are
[( a dawn )] 